


The Studio of Darkwing Duck

by RubberSoles19



Series: 7 AM EST: Darkwing Duck AU [1]
Category: Darkwing Duck (Cartoon), DuckTales (Cartoon 1987), DuckTales (Cartoon 2017)
Genre: 'darkwing was a tv show' au, AU, DuckTales Reboot, Family, Family Drama, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Minor mentions of suicide, based on teases of darkwing's role in the new ducktales, can be either classic or new scrooge and glomgold, ducktales classic, i have concept art on my tumblr, major character reboot, mental breaks, mentions of past verbal and emotional bullying but nothing graphic and never elaborated on, trigger warning for minor blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2019-01-18 06:18:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 72,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12382608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubberSoles19/pseuds/RubberSoles19
Summary: “Daring. Bold. Heroic.” All words that described "Darkwing Duck", a show that was considered the Prime of children’s Saturday Morning Cartoons for its full three years of running. That is, until everything went wrong. The conspiracies starting flowing, the gossip started spreading, and among the turbulent times and insider magazines, “Darkwing Duck’s” lead actor, head writer, and original visionary, Drake Mallard, quite suddenly vanished.Now, five years later, something, or someone, is trying to bring Drake Mallard, and Darkwing Duck, back into the spotlight and resurrect the old show and character, a duo that Drake, more than anyone, wants to keep dead.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> I know I'm not the only one totally psyched to see what role Darkwing will play in the Ducktales Reboot, and I'm not the only one who heard the rumors that he'll be an actor and "Darkwing" will be a TV show. Well, I took that idea and ran with it. This is an AU fic, and this fic may deviate from the canon characters, but I have a lot of rebuilding to do for this series, so the characters will start to feel more like themselves in the later installations. Please, it's an AU, and I wanted a dramatic element that the original "Darkwing" always could have had but never did.
> 
> The first two "OC" characters you meet are "Portia Featherly", who is based on the reporter at the end of the Ducktales Reboot Pilot and "Police Chief Oxford Bully", for whom you can picture Taurus Bulba plus about ten years.
> 
> You can find illustrations for this AU on my tumblr! rubbersoles19.tumblr.com/tagged/studioofdw

_“Daring duck of mystery, champion of night!_

_Swoops out of the shadows, Darkwing owns the night!”_

_“_ Darkwing Duck _, the roaring success but short-lived cartoon series of five years ago, has been catapulted back into the spotlight today after a fire broke out at DW Studio, home and center of production for the super-hero centered series, late last night. The fire was quickly extinguished before it could spread to nearby buildings or further into the studio by the St. Canard fire department, and St. Canard Police Chief Oxford Bully held a news conference this afternoon to address the matter. On the spot-reporter, Beverly Bo was there…”_

The television that displayed the news story was the only source of light or noise in the dark hallway it overlooked. Spoonerville Prep High School, despite its preppy students, cushy benefactors, and Flat-screen High Definition Television Screens in every corner of every hallway, frowned on spending unnecessary expenses on things like keeping the lights on after the school closed down for the day, or letting the lonely janitor enjoy some source of noise while he worked far into the night dusting the many trophies that over-flowed the expensive glass cabinets that lined every hallway, reorganized the desks, rubbed down the whiteboards, shined the computers, and lastly, mopped the floors. Pausing his work, the sleeves to his much-too big janitorial overalls pushed up over his elbows, the white feathered mallard glanced up at the screen. He pulled the spongy and tape-covered headphones off his head and produced the remote control from his pocket, turning the television’s volume up.

 _“Thank you for coming…”_ the large bull greeted the mass of reporters clumped before him in his usually dull, empty voice.

Police Chief Oxford Bully was an aged, tired, and unenthusiastic bull that had lost his passion and fire for cleaning up the streets of St. Canard long ago. Probably because it had become a losing battle long ago. Now, the Chief was only seen every so often on the evening news, providing an empty and defeated update to whatever hopeless story the station was currently soaking for all its worth. To those who knew St. Canard back in its golden area, the current Chief Bully was a sad, mournful sight.

It was a sight that made the mallard watching the story shift his weight uncomfortably, his thoughts wandering back to the good old days of St. Canard, when it was a waterfront wonder. Now, it was a couple dozen blocks of slums and localized crime on the brink of bankruptcy. With a shake of his head, the mallard turned his attention back to the news report.

_“… The fire was quenched quickly and without incident or injury. We do have reason to believe at this time that the fire was set intentionally, and suspect arson. We currently have no suspects.”_

_“Chief Bully,”_ piped up Portia Featherly above the other reporters, getting the Chief’s attention.

Some people left in St. Canard considered it a comfort to see the same green-feathered duck’s face and voice on every news slot after all these years, but for others, her biting commentary and, frankly, unprofessional jabs and biased remarks were grating to the nerves. Clearly, Featherly was a staple to the community, providing her the perfect immunity from any executive producer that would love to get her off the air. A sharp smile on her heavily painted face, she addressed the Chief.

_“It’s common knowledge at this point that DW Studio closed down five years ago amid a flurry of scandal and rumors of resentment among the cast and crew, ultimately destroying the show’s credibility and stability, and bringing its inevitable albeit abrupt cancellation…”_

“Alright, Featherly,” the mallard muttered, “no one’s in line for your Emmy, honey.” Shoving the mop down into the water-filled bucket, he splashed the water over the sides. As he leaned on the mop, the bucket slipped out from under him, sending him to the floor with a sudsy splash and wet yelp.

_“In light of all these turbulent times that continuously plagued the Studio and cornerstone, and only, production, do the St. Canard Police have any suspects in the investigation?”_

His interest spiking, the mallard sat up quickly, bubbles popping around him.

In the back of the hallway, meanwhile, shrouded by shadow, a figure lurked around the corner, hockey mask grinning maliciously at the duck.

 _“No, Miss Featherly,”_ Chief Bully sighed _, “we currently have no suspects. And I’ve never heard the rumors you have posed today about the downfall of the show, and frankly Miss Featherly, don’t find it pertinent to the investigation. The St. Canard Police department is currently attempting to make contact with the studio owner, but all efforts so far have failed…”_

With a huff, Drake Mallard clicked off the TV, using the bucket to stand to his feet, his overalls soaked through. “’No suspects’,” he mocked, mopping up the puddle around him after trying to flick the suds off his hands and overalls. “I can name half a dozen people that would _loooooooove_ to take a swing at that old eye sore.”

Behind Drake, the figure stepped forward, tossing a few hockey pucks into the air and catching them on the end of the hockey stick in their hands. With a small laugh, they tossed the pucks up, and with a cracking swing, sent them flying at Drake.

Startled, Drake straightened, ducking with a yelp as one puck shot over his head. With another yelp, he spun the mop around and caught the second puck with the wet mop head, wiggling the wooden handle to catch the other. Picking up one of the rubber disks that had fallen to the floor, Drake studied them, eyebrows twisted. “Hockey pucks? In the middle of summer?”

Then, from the shadows that filled the other end of the hallway, the figure laughed at him.

“You’ve met your match, Darkwing Duck!” Tossing a few more pucks into the air, the figure readied to strike, their mask grinning dangerously. “Now, it’s time to meet your maker!”

Drake grinned as well. Throwing the mop around his body, he planted his feet in the sudsy puddle, readying his new weapon and facing the attacker. “Now so fast, you hoarse hockey hiccup! It’s over-time!”

Their grin growing, the figure launched the pucks. First, Drake swung himself sideways, dodging the first two pellets, swinging the bucket around himself and catching the puck sin the bucket with a splash. Second, after putting the bucket down, he flipped into the air and around, bringing the mop down onto the projectiles. Third, and lastly, he spun the mop before himself windmill style, catching the remaining pucks and dropping them neatly and safely to the floor, on which he tossed the first two rounds.

“HAH!” he laughed at the figure, “not even your projectile puck pellets could net you this Janitor of Justice!” Standing straight, Drake performed a few more moves with the mop, ending his chorus of “hah’s” and “hee-yah’s” with a heroic pose, a last puck smacking his head from behind.

Ricocheting off Drake’s skull, the puck bounced off the glass trophy cabinet behind him, off the ceiling, off the floor, and back and forth between the two, ricocheting around the hallway with growing velocity and unpredictability. Bouncing off the mop handle Drake had moved to reflect the attack, the puck zoomed for the masked figure, who squealed and dropped to the floor. With a yelp, Drake lunged at the figure and slid to them, covering their body with his own, waiting for the onslaught to end –

Suddenly, the mallard reached above his head and caught the puck midair. He lowered it to the huddle of himself and the mask-wearing figure, turning the rubber disk over in his hand to examine it as he sat up off the other. Having deemed it harmless, Drake snapped his attention to the figure underneath him with a sharp glare, giving the mask three knocks with the rubber pellet. Blinking, it smiled innocently up at him.

“Ricochet pucks?” he frowned as the other sat up as well, pulling the mask from their face. “Gosalyn Julifeather Cavanary Waddlemeyer-Mallard, _pleeeease_ tell me you didn’t use ricochet pucks _inside_ the school!”

Her dandelion cheeks blushing, Gosalyn offered an unconvincing grin. “Grabbed it by accident?”

“At least,” Drake ran a hand down his long face, flicking his bill and standing and helping his daughter to her feet, even though Gosalyn was close to his equal in height, “we managed to avoid another major incident, _unlike last time_.”

Right on cue, the shiny glass cabinets, glittering gold trophies, flat-screen television screen, and even the glass covering portrait of the school’s dean all shattered at once, sending a carpet of glass fragments all over the floor. The two Mallards stared at the mess in shocked silence, their eyes bulging.

“Run?” asked Gosalyn.

“Run.” Her father replied. So they did, Gosalyn skating forward on her skates and cutting a path through the glass, opening the doors on the end of the hallway for Drake. Drake, only a half-step behind, scooped up the mop, vaulted over the glass with it, leaping off the bucket, sending a final soapy splash all over the floor, and soared right through the open doors and past the cringing teenager, bouncing his way down the front steps. Checking behind them as if they could have left someone behind in the dark hallway, Gosalyn slammed the door closed, grinding down the stair railing and helping her dad to his feet.

“Now where to?” she asked, Drake leading them to their lemon-yellow station wagon.

“Home, Gosalyn, back home!”

“The trailer park?”

“To St. Canard! I’ve got a sneaking suspicion that someone is expecting our return!”


	2. Welcome to St. Canard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake and Gosalyn return to St. Canard after a five year absence, and find that their beloved hometown has turned into crime-filled slums. Out on her own, Goslayn explores the city and meets a new friend.

"Ah, the Audubon Bay," Drake smiled, the family's rickety lemon hugging the curves of the rocky road that lead them around back cliffs of St. Canard, bypassing the rest of the city. The road clearly wasn't designed for the main populace, as one side clung to the bare, rocky foundation of St. Canard and the other was the rough, jagged coast of the Bay, but it got them around the congestion and traffic of the cramped downtown. "St. Canard used to have a booming tourist industry, you know," the mallard smiled at Gosalyn, who was packed safely in the passenger seat next to him.

Gosalyn was a spunky, spirited, fiery fifteen-year-old. Her dandelion-gold downy duckling feathers had never fully grown out, probably due to the stresses the girl had been through in her short-lived childhood, but had simply evolved into a beautiful and soft coat sprinkled with freckles when she spent too much time in the sun. As much as Drake adored them, however, her downy feathers were always a point of major frustration for the young girl, but her father had assured her that he too was an "ugly duckling" when he was a kid, and provided what little proof he could of his copper-brown feathers and winged stripes, not to mention his comically over-sized bill and feet. Comforted, she had turned her attention instead to her strawberry blonde hair, wondering if she should dye it back to its original scarlet. Drake often wished she would get it cut at least, or pin it back to keep her bangs out of her eyes, but the most she ever did with it was a sloppy ponytail, so he had silently accepted the compromise long ago.

Drake continued, motioning out the window to Gosalyn's side to the water that stretched out around them. "And it's easy to see why. That fresh ocean air, those crystal-clear waters, the noble Audubon Bridge standing high and proud above this calm, warm and life-filled bay like a monument of industry and growth between all masses of living creatures!"

Smiling, Gosalyn rolled her window down, sticking her head outside to catch a glimpse of the bridge far behind them. She took a deep breath of the fresh air, and gagged when the sea salt stung her nose and the stench of the rotting seaweed and trash that covered the coastline slapped her senses.

"Bleh," she gagged, rolling the window back up and plugging her nostrils. "Sure dad, 'fresh air'."

"That's the smell of economy," Drake pointed at her, "you need to give yourself a chance to get appropriately acclimated!"

Among the murky waves, a crab wrestled with a tin can, scaring away a seagull with a six-pack plastic wrap around its neck, who coughed up a tuna can. Out of which flopped a sardine, whom the crab snatched up before it could wiggle its way to the water. Gosalyn gagged again, turning away from the window. St. Canard had certainly changed since her father had last been there.

But they had both changed as well. Drake was older, more aged, but Gosalyn never knew him when he was young, so she never really noticed. As for herself, Gosalyn used to be a small, too small for her age, firecracker of a little girl. Her hair was a more scarlet red than it was presently, her feathers were just as golden, and she loved wearing shoes but hated wearing pants, and since she was just a kid, Drake never made her. Shoes helped protect her premature feet, and pants irritated her sensitive tail. Unfortunately for Drake's ever empty wallet, she kept the habit of wearing sneakers, but he'd rather her wear them while out doing her daring deeds than handling them barefooted. He knew how irritating foot injuries were, and earnestly prayed he would never had to live with a bed-ridden or crutch-condemned Gosalyn.

Over the last five years they had both learned to make things last, and each had a few favorite possessions to themselves. Drake always kept his atrociously 90's white and blue plastic windbreaker wherever he went, and used to have his own collection of polo shirts to wear underneath until Gosalyn started stealing them. Then he focused more on graphic tees they could both stand to wear, and cheaply replace. Gosalyn herself wasn't caught without her dad's old St. Canard High letterman jacket. The white and purple design swallowed her when she first started wearing it, and she asked every day if she could, but for her 13th birthday, when she could actually fit into it halfway properly, Drake officially gave it to her. The jacket was the only piece of St. Canard that had lasted.

Now that she was older and taller, the jacket fit well, long enough for her and loose enough for all kinds of crazy antics. Because Gosalyn was obsessed with sports, a passion Drake actively supported, she was strong, stronger than most teens her age and size, but was short for most gooses, now just under her father in height. He was confident she would surpass him one day, even if just by a little, and certainly in more ways than height. Gosalyn was strong minded and strong willed, but utterly adored her father. The "terrible teens" had never really struck her, or had yet to, and the two were a team almost stronger than their own wills when combined. Certainly no intellectual-student like her father, Gosalyn had struggled in school, despite Drake's best home-schooling efforts, but excelled in strength of character and merits. At the end of the day, and though he had seen his daughter grow tremendously in the last five years, she still had a lot of growing and discovering to do, and Drake was ecstatic to walk with her through it.

Part of him just wished her favorite jacket would last as well, but he had his doubts. The thing had been in tatters for a while.

"Still," she piped up with a smile, kicking her sneakers against the dashboard, which earned her a pointed look from her father, "it sure was nice of old Headmaster Mc-Stiff-Lip to not saddle you with the bill for all that damage! Those snotty brats can survive a day or two without their oh-so-precious trophies shoved down their throats."

With a sigh, Drake steered the car off the expressway, the tires bumping along the gravel driveway that lead into the "Possum Bottom Trailer Park". Gosalyn, eyeing the weathered possum on the welcome sign, yelped when the creature turned quite suddenly and glared at her before scampering away and flopped rather unceremoniously onto the dead grass around the sign, missing the mostly dead bushes.

"Sure it was," Drake bit back, "instead he just fired me, turned the home-owners association against us, and got us run out of town…" Pulling up to the front office, he stomped on the emergency break and turned to Gosalyn with his hands on hips, "that's  _all_."

She offered a bashful smile.

"Well," clicking his seat belt free, Drake dug around under the seat for his wallet, "might as well mark Spoonerville off the map."

With a roll of her green eyes, Gosalyn waited for her dad to leave the car before kicking the glove box in front of her. The latch sprung open and their over-sized and wrinkled atlas exploded free.

"I saw that," Drake warned, heading to the office building at the front gate to check in and rent a lot, assuming the place would be standing long enough for him to make it inside.

"Sorry!" called Gosalyn, wrestling the map open and swimming around its folds to find Spoonerville. With the red marker she snatched from the glove box, she scribbled generously over the city, writing "Rikoshay Puck Vs. Trophy Case" across it, finishing the notation with a skull and cross bones. Sitting back, the springs in her seat squeaking, Gosalyn's eyes roamed back and forth across the map, which was almost completely covered with various cities, the reasons they left, and the dotted lines connecting to them. They left Sabre Way because of the "Pumpkin Patch Incident." Utah Straights thanks to the "Pizzeria Funzone Fire." Salt Springs after the "Mad Cow Epidemic," which, she had noted underneath, had NOTHING to do with them. The only untouched piece in the whole map was St. Canard and Duckburg, and Gosalyn traced their path to their new home, circling it.

Drake returned not long after that and drove to an empty lot near the back of the park. St. Canard certainly didn't have much room to spare, but the "back" of the city, which was on the opposite side of the city as the Audubon Bay Bridge, was a little more openly spaced. The rocky terrain and unsteady foundation, seeing that the opening of the Bay pounded against the shore and wore away at the rocks, wasn't fit for the taller skyscrapers in downtown. Instead, its scenic view had always been utilized for the tourist and nature-orientated side of the economy, and though the economic crash had almost completely killed the industry, dirty and weather-worn trailer-parks like "Possum Bottom Trailer Park" hinted at a thriving heritage, with its few pine trees for the aesthetic, gravel driveways and dead grass, and muddy, sandy coastline. It wasn't the most disgusting place they had ever lived, and Gosalyn had to admit, she had never really known this side of the city had even existed.

"Gosalyn! Come help me get the trailer unhitched!"

"Coming," the teen called back, excitedly scribbling "Home of Darkwing Duck" on the map next to St. Canard. Stretching the map out before her, she grinned at her handiwork. St. Canard was where it had all started, and she was more excited than she'd ever let her dad know to be back –

Suddenly, a loud metal clatter sounded from outside and Gosalyn blinked. Crumbling the map back up and shoving it into the glove box, which she kicked closed, she hurried outside and followed her dad's irritated mutters. He was knelt by the driver's side of the trailer, trying to secure a loose panel back over the power connectors.

"You know what Dad," Gosalyn retied the letterman around her waist as she watched Drake over his shoulder beat the panel back into place with his fists, "I've got a good feeling about this place! I think this may be… the one!"

Drake scoffed, turning the panel around backwards and trying to jam it into place. "That's what you said about Spoonerville! And Jackal Point, and Highcrest,  _and_  Steamboat City, and look at how those ended."

Rearing her foot back suddenly, Gosalyn kicked the panel, denting a large hole in the center but bending it to the hole so it didn't fall off anymore. Her dad, however, quacked loudly in fright.

"Uh – hmhmm," he cleared his throat and stood, "thank you."

Gosalyn watched him stand, dust his hands off, and move to the hitch keeping the trailer connected to the car. She followed eagerly, gesturing excitedly with her hands. "But I mean it, Dad! St. Canard feels different! This is where it all started, yah know. The lights, the cameras, the action! This is the home of Darkwing –!"

"ENOUGH!" Drake screamed suddenly, bolting upright from where he knelt by the hitch and glaring down at her. " _Darkwing Duck_  was a  _television_  character that I played on  _television_! He wasn't real! And before you go and argue, 'oh, but he was a hero, and we're supposed to look up to our heroes!', well guess what sister, he wasn't that either!" Stopping for breath, Drake jammed himself back onto the ground, strangling the hitch release lever with both hands and giving it a few good yanks. "And I - I might add - am no hero either, despite what your impromptu hockey attacks might lead you to think!" His previous tugs failing, Drake scooted back and gave a few full-body yanks on the lever. "If I was, I'd be able to keep a job… for more than a few months… we wouldn't be moving… to a new city a dozen... times a year… I wouldn't be on the run... from debt collectors… and you would have had a normal childhood!" When his grip slipped, Drake tumbled backwards across the gravel with a grunt and sat up with an angry snap. "Sonofa - A little help? Please?!"

Face tight, Gosalyn marched over and kicked the handle, the thing popping loose and dropping the trailer, which landed in the rubble with a cloud of loose bolts and nuts. One of the front tires snapped off and caught Drake right in the abdomen, tossing him back off his recently regained footing and back onto the gravel.

"Dad!" Gosalyn yelped, running over. "Are you okay? I told you to get that tire tightened! It's going to kill you one of these days!"

Drake didn't reply, just sat quietly and rolled the tire from his lap. The weariness in his face softened the edge of Gosalyn's own temper, and she dropped her hands from her hips, offering one to Drake. Blue eyes flicked up at it briefly, before Drake sighed and dusted off his windbreaker.

"Oh," he took Gosalyn's offered hand and allowed her to pull him to his feet, "I'm sorry Gosalyn. But," they rolled the tire back to the trailer, Drake shouldering it so she could fit the thing back onto the axle, " _Darkwing_   _was_  a long time ago." With a small grunt, the mallard dropped the trailer onto the wheel, leaning against it and smoothing back his head feathers. Gosalyn, still sitting on her knees by the tire, watched him expectantly. "Please, Gos, can't we just once let the past stay in the past? Especially here? At least until we get settled in?"

"Sure, Dad," she muttered, pulling herself up and around him towards the back of the trailer. At the door, while Drake kicked the wooden stoppers under the tires, she paused on the steps and turned to him. "But, why?"

"Gosalyn-"

"I mean, I know we've always had to keep it on the down low-"

"Gosalyn-!"

"But - you've never told me why!"

"Gos-!"

"I deserve to know-!"

"Because!" Drake snapped, throwing the wooden brakes onto the ground. Wrapping his arms around himself as if to catch his own anger before it escaped, the mallard took a deep breath and blew it out through his nose. Once he was a little more composed, he aimed guilty blue eyes up at Gosalyn. "Because that was Boxer, and Eisenhower Park, and the west coast and the north coast, and everywhere else other than  _St. Canard_. This is where is happened, Gosalyn, this city, these streets. Right here."

"But what happened?!" Pleaded the teen, dropping off the steps and closer to her dad. "Dad, tell me what-!"

"Not now, Gosalyn!"

"But Dad-!"

"ENOUGH!" Drake cried, advancing on Gosalyn with a sharp glare. "Discussion is closed! You will NEVER know the truth, so help me-!"

Goaslyn stared, and once the shock passed, her face hardened into a scowl. Ponytail flicking behind her, the teen pivoted on her heel and leaped up the steps and into the trailer. Drake watched her go, released another breath through his nose, and turned around to scoop up the tangled brakes. As he straightened, the door behind him squeaked open and slammed shut with a clatter, and Gosalyn stomped down the steps with her letterman around her shoulders and Ankle Killer, her old skateboard, under her arm. Plugging the spongy, tape-covered headphones into her long-outdated phone, she made a point of ignoring her father, who watched her with a scowl.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, planting his hands on his hips.

"To see if that old half-pipe is still standing," the teen replied shortly, turning away from him and turning the music blasting in her headphones up even louder.

"Gosalyn-!"

"Don't worry, if anything happens I'll just call my hero, Dork-wrong Dad, like always." With a sharp glare, she put the headphones on and crunched down the gravel driveway towards town.

Drake turned back to the trailer, rubbing the back of his head. The wooden brakes were still clutched in his hand, and he massaged the rope as his brow scowled in thought.

"Maybe this was a bad idea…" With a toss, the blocks hit the trailer and knocked a bolt loose, which sprung outwards and bounced off the back of Drake's head. Glaring at the trailer, the mallard rubbed the spot with an annoyed scowl.

* * *

The grinding of the sidewalk under her wheels was a well known sensation for the teen, and as she drifted through the city, the familiar feeling was a comfort in the lonely crowds.

It was obvious to Gosalyn that St. Canard was nowhere near the place they left, nor the sparkling city her dad remembered so fondly. But, while exploring the back streets and side alleys, she began to really piece the transformation together into the sad, travesty of a story it really was. Street-side businesses were boarded up left and right, graffiti covered the walls, weeds grew from the cracks in the sidewalks, and piles of trash and trashcans cluttered up every corner. She stopped briefly to let her eyes roam over a power line pole over-crowded with missing posters and once happy, living faces. Some were old, some were new, but the posters absolutely covered every inch of the surface, and any other nearby surface they could cling. Across the street, a dejected figure hung another, and Gosalyn watched them sadly.

"Seems like a lot of missing people for a small city," she mumbled to herself, then, hearing a whistle, turned around with a ready glare. Some hoodlum looking types were watching her from across the street, so she pressed onward, trying to ignore their glances. If she got in a fight now, she would have to call her dad for help, somehow doubting the proficiency of the local police force, and that was a humbling lesson she wasn't in the mood for.

Though she did clutch her phone more tightly in her pocket and turned her music down. Considerably.

Gosalyn was born and bred in St. Canard, just like her dad, but since they moved when she was ten, she never knew much about the city like he did, and he knew a lot. Drake was filled with a strange mixture of resentment and nostalgia for the peninsula, consumed and obsessed with its history and success while equally fixated on its collapse and decline. And the city  _had_  collapsed. Gosalyn wasn't sure why, but the truth was simple:  _Darkwing Duck_  had been an uproarious success, and rocketed St. Canard into international fame and an unequaled boom. The climb was instantaneous and drastic, and the fall when  _Darkwing_  crumbled was all the more devastating. It was an economic crash that shook the very foundation of the business structure and pedestrian system, and when the masses left and took their money with them, St. Canard became a ghost town and a complete economic failure. And it hadn't come even close to recovering, not five years later.

After a few turns, Gosalyn found herself in the old business district, filled with empty sky scrapers and dirty bus stops. Even the grass here was dried and brown, matching the rust that covered the city like acidic snow. Stopping abruptly, kicking Ankle Killer up into her hand, she stared upwards and took in the particularly pitiful sight she had wandered upon, in all its haunted glory.

Police tape surrounded the old building, which suggested some kind of law enforcement element, though the rest of the structure was untouched. The gentle scent of smoke still hung in the air, and black char marks reached upwards from the front windows and licked at the walls. High above the ground, the bulbs broken or long-since stolen, hung the old "DW STUDIOS" sign, suspended as if from a noose.

"Gee whiz," Gosalyn muttered, "no wonder this place almost burned down."

Frowning, the teen removed her headphones and – after checking each way for the prying eyes of the law – ducked under the police tape and tiptoed her way to one of the windows, which was black with smoke but still intact. "Rats," she growled, spotting the front double doors instead. Thankfully, the firemen had smashed the lock to get into the burning building, and no one had cared enough to repair it. Slipping inside, careful to keep herself clean of ash, Gosalyn kept pressed against the entrance, letting her eyes adjust to the new world of darkness and the smell of dust and smoke and melted plastic. The front of the studio, past the reception's desk and lobby, was like a jungle, filled with old relics and skeletons of lighting cranes, camera jigs, and spare lights. Light fixtures stood tall and empty, boo-mic stands were stacked in piles, and chairs and various pieces of equipment filled the place, casting odd angles and crocked shadows back and forth across the old tile floor.

"Keen gear," smiled Gosalyn, pulling her cell phone from her pocket for a light and tucking Killer under her other arm. Extravagant double doors opened up into the main studio space, and Gosalyn aimed her small light around after pushing herself clear of the doors.

The cave was large and empty, and filled with similar skeletons like the lobby outside, only three times their size. Catwalk bridges were suspended far above her head, a skylight window stretched the length of the building, the further half of which was covered by a hanging tarp that blocked the filtered sunlight, rolling camera mounts slept where they stood, and piles and piles of props and costumes were shoved into the back corners. Immediately, she recognized the first set as Darkwing Tower, secret base of Darkwing Duck in the Audubon Bay Bridge. Giving a small squeal, Gosalyn ran onto the set and quickly began to touch absolutely everything.

"There's the windows that over-look St. Canard," she pointed, "and there's the windows that over-look Duckburg! Ah! The trap door that lead to the secret underwater entrance! All the super computers Darkwing used to build gadgets and analyze evidence! And the garage lift that the Ratcatcher was parked on!" She set Killer down near the platform and scaled it, which was about eight feet tall, round, and covered with dust. Once on top, she took hold of the old musty sheet and threw it aside, revealing what slept underneath. There, glinting slightly in the thin sunlight, sat the Ratcatcher, still coiled and ready to pounce like a slumbering tiger. The teen made quick work of dusting it off and climbing on board. Hands on the clutch and brakes, she turned the old wheel, growling and roaring in place of the dormant engine.

"I am the newest vigilante on the scene!" she declared. "I am the thrilling, rejuvenating reboot that reassures the retired audiences! The rehash hero that chases down the criminals, stops the snooper, thwarts the thieves, and keeps St. Canard safe! I am – uh…" frowning, Gosalyn sat back, rubbing her bill. "I am Darkwing Duckling? Violent Violet? The Quackinator?" With a shrug, Gosalyn leaped off the bike and jumped off the platform. "Well, whatever."

"Costumes!" she cried suddenly, rushing to the costume racks in the corner and kicking up a cloud of dust with her sneakers. "Megavolt's battery hat! Buthroot's bushy wig! Quackerjack's jester hat! Hey," scowled the girl, stepping away from the collection, "where's Darkwing?" After tearing every piece off the rack and tossing them behind her, she growled and crossed her arms with a small huff. "Well that's just great! Star of the show and you don't even leave any of his costume pieces laying around? Hmm," heading back to the center of the set, she tapped her bill. "If I was Dad, where would I want my costume pieces, being the star of the show, to be?"

As she paced around, Gosalyn leaned on one of the set walls. Suddenly, the thin plaster crumbled at her touch and dumped her through the wall and onto the dusty floor on the other side. The hallway she found herself in was totally dark, and her phone flew from her hand, cutting and circling through the dusty cloud and clattering down the hallway and into the darkness.

"Oops," the teen coughed, waving the dust cloud clear and sitting up, kicking her feet free from the rubble. Spotting her phone, she huffed and stood, looking wearily around.

This hallway was still and quiet, completely untouched by the smoke and movement of the firemen from a few days ago, or the light from the sunlight outside. The air was dead, and the dust cloud Gosalyn had kicked up quickly fell heavily back to the floor, joining the thick layer of dust already coating the wood. Gosalyn sneezed and tiptoed down the hall and snatched her phone. As she lifted it and looked around, something muted but shining glinted, and her eyes snapped there.

The hallway was lined with doors, on each of which was a dusty silver plaque. Gosalyn stepped closer and wiped the first one clean, discovering a name underneath.

"Elmo Sputterspark: Megavolt," she read, an excited smile splitting her face. "Keen Gear! ... Reginald Bushroot: Bushroot … Bud Flood: Liquidator… Who knew the cast had such crazy names," she muttered, having reached the last door. Another sneeze crept up her throat and rattled free, knocking the teen a few steps backwards. Her back bumped into another door, and she turned to it, a small gasp escaping her. This door, unlike the others, was smashed inward right down the middle, the splints of wood slashed and carved into by a sharp blade, digging and tearing and ripping the grain apart.

"What the heck..." Gosalyn muttered, eyes roaming over the pile of wood and to her own feet. The dust around the door was scuffed and mixed up, with dozens of footprints covering it. The prints, however, had been trampled by her own, and she couldn't get a read from them. The teen frowned, tilted her head, and aimed her phone at the floor to snap a photo. "Why would some smash this... door?" Through the lens, something winked up at her, and Gosalyn carefully dug among the wood until her fingers hit cool metal. It was a large golden star, and among the claw marks that had shredded the face of it, was a name.

"... Dad."

Suddenly, something near the front of the building crashed and sent a shuddering echo all round the building, muffled by the shrouded hallway. Gosalyn squawked in fright, clamping a hand around her bill as she stared down the dark hall and up towards, what she assumed, was the front of the building. Her phone light only reached so far, and the remaining darkness tried to swallow it. A tremble set into her feathers and chills rippled up her spine, and Gosalyn rubbed her arms with her free hand. Then, another noise drifted near, and she frowned.

"Huh."

* * *

 

Tiptoeing to the edge of the hallway and back through the hole she had punctured in the thin wall, the teen followed the voices towards the lobby. A few of them were rough and burly, but one more was nasally and high-pitched. The victim was easy enough to spot as she poked her head back into the lobby, even among the twisted shadows and faded light streaming in through the windows: a tall, lanky, yellow-colored canary with over-sized glasses, wearing a wrinkled dress shirt and baggy hoodie. The bullies, well, they were nothing note-worthy. Just potential targets.

"What're you so scared of?" one of them asked, shoving the canary from behind. "I thought you liiiiiiked Dorkwing Duck!"

Gosalyn gasped excitedly, clamping her bill shut again.

"It's 'Darkwing'!" the canary argued, gulping as he was shoved again while the bullies ripped his backpack off his thin shoulders.

"Yeah, figures a nerd like you would know!" Laughing, the bullied dumped the contents on the floor, a couple others holding the canary back. A few textbooks dropped out heavily, then an inhaler, a digital camera that made a heart-wrenching snap when it hit the floor, and lastly some comic books. Which, judging by the quick flashes of unmistakable purple, were undoubtedly  _Darkwing Duck_.

"Those were limited edition," Gosalyn noted. "Who is this kid?"

The leader of the bullies snatched up a comic book, and with a quick twist, gutted it.

"Yeeeep," purred the teen, leaning back into the shadows and looking around, "that's definitely a 'no'." The old studios were filled with junk she couldn't operate and dusty old costumes she didn't fit. Then, as she was figuring out if she could jump the Ratcatcher off its pedestal and survive to tell about it, a familiar shape of worn wood and wheels caught her eye. "Oh," she grinned, eyes sparkling, "and Dad thinks he's the only genius around."

"Put that down!" the canary outside protested, kicking and pulling his arms to get free as the bullies picked up another comic. "Those are limited edition! Please!"

"What's wrong kid," mocked the bully, waving the book in the teen's face, "is Dorkwing not coming to your rescue?"

Grabbing the pages off the ground, the bully ripped them in half and the others laughed while the teen continued to beg.

"Alright, alright," the leader finally sighed, walking back over to the taller teen, glaring up into his glasses. "You want your precious coloring books back so badly? Well then go and get them!" With a single throw, the comic books flew past the double doors and into the dark set beyond, disappearing from sight.

"No – no – no!" wheezed the teen, wriggling in the bullies' hold. "I – I – I can't!"

"Why not? You're not afraid of a little dark are you? Well, we wouldn't be pals if we didn't help you conquer that!" All at once, the bullies grabbed the protesting teen, shoved him into the dark room, and barricaded the door behind him by tying the handles together with some loose wire. From the other side, the teen cried and pleaded, his efforts muffled by the sound proofing.

When the canary started crying, the bullies began to applaud themselves. Their celebration done, they turned back to the front doors, but a booming voice swallowed them.

_"Locking that boy up in a cold, dark studio? How considerate…"_

Gulping, the bullies froze and looked around frantically as the booming voice began to laugh.

 _"After all, I am the terror that flaps in the night!"_  A smoke cloud kicked up suddenly, the bullies coughing and trying to wave it away.  _"I am the dust particle that gets in your eye!"_  Rising out of the smoke, a hooded figure with glowing eyes glared down at the bullies, the voice growing even louder.  _"I am Darkwiiiiiiiing Duck!"_

Shrieking in fear, the bullies toppled over themselves to get out the front doors, screaming for help and for someone to call the police. Once they were gone and the dust slowly settled, Gosalyn sneezed.

"Bless me," she muttered, wiping her bill and and waving the dust clear of her position behind the lighting crane. Over the shoulders of an empty light fixture, Gosalyn had tied one of the old Darkwing capes, the iconic fedora on its head, and her cellphone in the empty socket providing the glowing eyes. The whole thing sat on Ankle Killer, and Gosalyn climbed up it quickly, snatching her flashlight from the empty light socket.

"Wait until I tell Dad! Oh, then again – Wha-!" Spinning, Gosalyn stared at the barricaded doors when a splitting scream sounded from behind them. The scream, after a moment of silence, dissolved into meek hiccups, and Gosalyn panted. "Gee whiz kid," she called, jumping off her invention and hurrying to them, "I almost forget you were in there!"

It didn't take long to untie the wiring, and once the doors were free, Gosalyn threw them open. The other teen pounced onto her, his arms wrapping around her neck and tackling her to the floor in a heap.

"DARKWING! SAVE ME, PLEASE!" he shrieked, hugging Gosalyn tightly.

Frowning, Gosalyn tapped the canary's head, who blinked his eyes open and turned to her.

"Hiya, champ," she waved, and the other cried out again, scrambling off and away from the redhead.

"I'm - I'm sorry!" he stammered, and Gosalyn sat up, looking the other's trembling frame over.

"Hah! Don't worry about it, kid!" scoffed the teen, waving away the other's concerns. "It's all in a day's work for-"

"MY COMICS!" shrieked the other, diving for his books and scooping them up.

"The... Avian... Avenger... You're welcome."

The other, however, was infinitely more interested in collecting his scattered books, and Gosalyn watched him for a moment. With a sigh, she pushed herself up and crawled towards the other to begin collecting the pages as well. "Here. Hey kid," as he tried to pull the pages from her hands, she tugged back on them. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah," he nodded, eyes fleeing her own quickly. "Th-th-thanks."

"You, like, need this?" Seeing his inhaler in her hand, the teen blushed brightly and snatched it from her.

"No!" he bit. Then, after turning his back on her, took a quick puff. Gosalyn nodded her head.

"Sure. Don't mention it. I'm," she stood and offered to pull the other up as well, "kind of a  _Darkwing_  fan myself."

"Really?!" With renewed vigor, the teen sprung to his feet and grabbed Gosalyn's jacket, staring into her eyes. "I've never met another fan! Well, at least not in a really long time... How long have you been watching? I own the collector's edition! Which season is your favorite?! I liked the first one, but the second had some really good-!"

"I kinda liked them all," Gosalyn giggled hesitantly, pulling herself free of his grip and backpedaling a few feet. "I guess you could say it's in the family?"

Gathering his items back in his backpack, the canary turned to her. "It is? How do you mean? You have to let me get a selfie with you!" Suddenly, the canary had one arm around Gosalyn's shoulders, flashing a quick picture of the two of them with his camera.

With a chuckle, she rubbed the spots out of her eyes when he withdrew. "Well y'see, whoever-you-are, my dad—"

"-Is going to need a very good lawyer," a gruff voice from behind the two growled, the teens spinning around with a loud scream. Three or four cops filed into the foyer after the other, all glaring down at the teens.

With an anxious smile, the canary backed up behind her, and Gosalyn waved. "Heya, St. Canard's finest! Hehe, big fans!"


	3. St. Canard Mending Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family relations, new and old, are explored after Drake picks Gosalyn up from the police station. After some painful recovery, the family is put in the cross-hairs of the police's investigation, which takes a sinister turn.

 

The rolling cell door rattled as a portly officer opened it and lumbered forward, a clipboard in his hands.

"Gosalyn Mallard?" he asked in a monotone voice, the convicts and criminals stuffed into the cell sending a wave of sharp glares at him. "Heh," he chirped nervously, sinking behind the clipboard. "Gosalyn… Mallard?"

"Here!" Gosalyn called back, kicking and elbowing her way from between two thugs, who did their best to move aside for her in the over packed cell. She strode happily to the officer's side, spinning around and waving at the merry bunch. "I'll see you around guys, yeah? Remember—"

"It's not what you are, it's who you are!" the group chorused with a delighted wave to the teen. "Tootle-loo!"

With a contented sigh, Gosalyn lead the way out of holding area. Startled at his new loneliness, the cop jumped and followed after her quickly.

"Y'know," she sighed, putting her hands on her hips and leaning on one as the officer locked up another door behind them, "those ruffians really aren't all that bad, just a little rough around the edges is all. Hah, guess that's why they are called 'ruffians,' I just thought of that. Now, if you want to see the real definition of bad, you should meet my –  _hiii,_  Dad!"

Drake Mallard, windbreaker jacket on, arms crossed with one foot tapping quickly, glared at his daughter. She offered a nervous giggle.

"So nice of you to come?"

 

* * *

 

Outside the police station, the sun was beginning to set and the skyscrapers around them cast the duo into darkness, Drake lead the two to the lemon, jamming the key into the passenger side door and unlocking it.

“ONE day, Gosalyn! ONE! DAY!” After throwing the door open for her, he stormed around to the other side and repeated the procedure, beating a fist into the roof for emphasis as he snarled at her. “We’ve been back in St. Canard for  _one day_  and I’ve  _already_  been called to the police station to pick up my under-age daughter from containment!”

Finally climbing in, he slammed his door shut, turning to face the teen who had slunk into the car as well. “I thought you said St. Canard would be different! What happened?!”

“Dad-!” Gosalyn argued desperately, “there was this kid – and these bullies and – and – I had to help him!”

The car sputtered to life as Drake turned the key, the two putting their seat-belts on. “No, Gosalyn, not  _that_ ,  _EVERYTHING_  else! You… you broke into the old studio?”

As if deflating, Drake turned to Gosalyn with a broken, betrayed expression. She blinked, and - crossing her arms defensively - turned forward in her seat.

“It-it was unlocked...”

“You caused property damage!”

“Everything was already broken when I got there anyway!"

“And you crossed a police line and entered a crime scene!!”

Opening her mouth to argue, Gosalyn clipped it shut and sat back in the car with a defeated pout. “It’s not like anyone cares about that crummy old studio anyway.”

"That's not the point," Drake growled, turning the key and waiting for the lemon to sputter to life. "You broke the law, Gosalyn, and you disobeyed me! I told you to leave all this _Darkwing_ stuff alone!"

"Not like you ever gave me a reason."

"You mean, besides me telling you to?"

"No! More than that!"

"So obeying your father doesn't mean anything anymore, does it?!"

"That's not what I said!"

"That's what it sounded like!"

"I just want a reason, Dad!"

"And I just want you to stay out of trouble for one day, but I didn't get that, now did I?"

Gasping slightly, Gosalyn huffed and turned towards the window with a growl. Her face was hot and her ears were ringing, and if her father tried to say anything after that, she didn't hear it. The tears threatening to burn her eyes were much too distracting.

“Some hero. At least  _I_  was brave enough to actually do some good."

His hands clenching on the steering wheel, Drake turned to Gosalyn in shock, mouth agape. Scoffing and shaking his head, he turned back to the road. That kind of remark deserved grounding for sure, he was sure of it. And as the heat between them fogged the windows and began to cool, he readjusted his grip. The leather squeaked in protest, and he pulled his hands off and sat back. One hand ran down his face and across his neck, and he scratched the back of his neck.

He hated being mad at her, and he hated her being mad at him. But more importantly, he hated that he had caused it. 

Fighting with each other was the worst possible thing that could happen in their small world. Father and daughter alike were equally headstrong, impulsive, and hot-tempered, always had been, and each one lacked a few emotional foundations due to their traumatizing childhoods. It was a scarring lesson for the family to learn, but the two-weeks long battle that ravished the small household after leaving St. Canard revealed two things: one, Gosalyn had a crippling inability to express her emotions, especially through words, leaving her only her misdirected accusations and physical outbursts to get her feelings out. And two, that Drake was completely oblivious to any and all emotional cues, leaving him utterly useless in helping his little girl realize and express what she was feeling properly. The war had been a long one, with Gosalyn unable to express her fear and anger about the move, and Drake being completely oblivious of the affects it was really having on the ten-year-old. The whole thing had left deep scars on the two ducks, scars that were still healing, even five years later.

Drake knew, after slowly piecing the puzzle that was Gosalyn Julifeather Cavanary Waddlemeyer-Mallard together since adopting her, a picture that was far from complete, that Gosalyn’s biggest fear was one day becoming the “problem child” label she had been given at a young age. After getting in trouble, her first impulse was to play the situation down to a significantly smaller severity than it really was to protect her reputation. She never did it out of lack of respect for the act or consequences, she understood those perfectly, and that’s what drove her fear. Punishments were permanent in the teen’s mind, and could never be wiped off her record. The more marks she amassed the closer she would be to becoming just another unfortunate result of a broken adoption program, a label and fate that she could never control or escape no matter how hard she tried.

Thankfully, fear was one of the few emotions Drake  _could_  empathize with. He had lived most of his life controlled by it, cowering away from the emotional traps of the spiders that filled the world. To protect his sensitive soul, he learned, early on, to build walls, and to maintain them at all times, no exceptions. Emotional maturity at his age was almost unheard of, but he hated seeing his baby girl hurting more than he was terrified of making himself vulnerable. Additionally, learning that it was his own inability to connect with and help the struggling girl were all of his deepest fears realized. So, he was trying. It wasn't easy, a few therapists here and there, like their beloved family-councilor back in Boxer, had helped, but each Mallard struggled for the sake of their family.

Nonetheless, they were certainly no perfect family by any stretch of the imagination, and they both had very powerful compasses. A teen that struggled to express her emotions paired with a walled-up old duck that lacked all ability to read emotional cues and connect with people on that level was a combination doomed by many to fail. And they had been told so before, many times. But Drake and Gosalyn Mallard were headstrong if nothing else, and weren’t letting their family, or intense bond they had with each other, go anywhere without a bloody, serious fight.

They both secretly hoped it would never come down to that. Not again.

 

* * *

 

At the trailer park, the sun finally reaching the horizon and streaking the world in long shadows, Drake stomped on the emergency break and stormed out of the car after jamming it into park. The windows of the old lemon rattling as he slammed the door behind him, making Gosalyn wince. Turning in her seat to watch her dad stomp up the steps and jam the key into the trailer door, Gosalyn quickly pushed her door open and called after him.

“Dad! You know, that kid from the studio was a big fan of… yours... of Darkwing’s.”

Finally getting the door open, Drake paused long enough to slump forward and sigh, wiping a hand across his face. “Sometimes I wish you weren’t.”

Stunned, Gosalyn jammed herself back into the seat, arms crossed with a pout. She watched Drake disappear into the trailer from the corner of her eye and somehow suppressed the urge to run after him. “Yeah but… but I’m your biggest."

 

* * *

 

Gosalyn yawned, stretching her arms out over the second-hand textbooks she had piled around her. The previous evening had been a quiet and tense one, and besides Drake making sure she would get her schoolwork done for the day, they hadn't spoken all night. Drake had poured himself over his old laptop all night, looking for jobs, reading scripts, maybe even doing a little writing, and Gosalyn had kept herself occupied with her schoolwork and some quiet TV watching on her shattered smartphone.

Now, after the restless night, she was trying to get a jumpstart on her homework, hoping that her efforts might help sooth her dad’s temper. Apologizes had never been her forte; for all his emotional dumbness, Drake was always better at them than she was. While he could voice them easily enough, and had learned to initiate the uncomfortable emotional talks a long time ago, despite his own hatred of them, Gosalyn usually tried to express her remorse through her actions. She hated talking about her feelings. And often couldn't. Though it was never clear if her Dad picked up on her message, it was the best she could do.

Even the best intentions could be forgotten, however, especially when she was trying to wrestle her way through her math homework.

“Daaaaaaad!” She wailed loudly, slumping backwards in the round window seat. “How do you divide by a negative fraction? With the top part negative?”

 _“Wot?”_  Drake’s head poked into the main trailer from the curtain that separated the bunks from the rest with a frown. His tooth brush was in his mouth, and he stepped to the sink, spit, rinsed, and, leaning on the cupboard, stared at her in confusion. “You don’t divide by a negative numerator, you have to flip it.” Having cleaned his mouth, and the sink, Drake stepped out of the thin hallway, foot hooking the rolled-up hockey net shoved in the small closet across from the sink and vanity. He kicked his foot loose and stepped forward, the rollerblade under his other foot sending him to the floor with a crash. “Ow.”

“You and me both,” grimaced the teen, messaging her forehead as she stretched out over the books.

Drake Mallard did three things when he and Gosalyn left St. Canard: emptied his bank account, which caused quite a distress for his banker, and bought a trailer, the first one he found that would leave enough in his pocket for his family's trip to who-knows-where. The beat up old thing was a relic from the 60s, and still had the neo yellow-green paint on the outside and the psychedelic decorations on the inside. Near the front of the trailer were two bunk beds, barely twin in size, with a fabric curtain separating them from the rest for a little privacy while the two slept or needed space from each other. Gosalyn always got the top bunk, it was her first choice. Beyond that, with just enough space for a book or pair of socks to fall, was the toilet on the left side and the shower on the right, each in their own wooden cupboards that thinned the narrow space between them to a one-duck only hallway. The toilet and closet, divided in half, were enough to equal the space of the shower, so at least it was all even. The middle of the trailer on the right side - opposite the door - was an antique fridge, kitchen countertop, a sink, and a few cabinets beside the shower, which opened up to the back of the trailer where a round table was snuggled against the round bench seat. The back wall of the trailer was frosted glass windows, and it curled around the table and bench. On the left side, after the toilet and closet, was a pile of boxes and sports equipment, and the only door. Past the door was the other end of the table and bench.

The Mallards had one dented metal chair which pulled up to the table, and an antique wooden chair which was covered in storage, and not much else. A few pots and pans, a hot plate, and electric skillet for cooking, and a small microwave for everything else stocked their cupboards, but the most copious item they had was Gosalyn’s equipment for every sport from hockey to softball. Most everything could be stored easily enough, but the collapsible hockey nets, a purchase Drake had made as soon as they parked their trailer for the first time, were the exception. They didn’t have a home, and the two ducks just lived around them.

Drake sighed and walked to Gosalyn, turning the dented metal chair backwards to sit on it. Gosalyn knew what was coming, and recoiled, slumping against the green floral-printed bench with a guilty expression.

“Gosalyn,” Drake began, gently bookmarking and shutting the math book that sat between them and pushing it aside, “I’m sorry for what I said last night."

The teen diverted her green eyes to her lap, and Drake crossed his arms on the table.

“Gos?”

“Okay,” the teen squeaked.

“I’m sorry for blowing up at you last night.”

“I know,” she mumbled.

“You know I try to give you freedom and space, right?”

“Yeah.”

“And you know we don’t helicopter over each other, right?”

“Sure.”

Drake sighed again, and Gosalyn immediately wilted. She hated that she couldn’t she be better at talking to her dad about these things like a normal teenager. They both knew it was hard enough for Drake to begin with, but she never seemed to make it any easier for him, no matter how bad she felt about it.

 _“You_  know that  _I_ know that you don’t like being punished, right? I know it seems permanent to you, but I know you know better, and are trying really hard to change it. Did you know that I see you trying?”

“No … do you really?”

“I do.” Standing, Drake scooted onto the bench next to Gosalyn and playfully poked her side. “And you know that I’ll never stop loving you or stop being proud of you, right?”

“Yeah – Dad! Yeah, yeah - I know it! Haha!”

“Well then you know furthermore that I’m proud of you for scaring away those bullies, right?”

“Yeah – yeah, Dad! Yeah, I know!”

“Good,” the mallard smiled, stopping his poking and flipping her ponytail. “No more trespassing or getting arrested, alright?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“And you’ll stay away from the Studio, yes?”

Stumped, Gosalyn frowned up at her dad, the older Mallard cutting her off before she could protest.

“Gosalyn, I’m serious. Stay away from the Studio. And all things  _Darkwing Duck_  related. Do I make myself clear _this time_?”

“Okay… I guess.”

“Good, then it’s your turn.”

“Rats,” she groaned, sitting up in the seat and curling her legs under her. “Here goes…. I know I shouldn’t have… left?”

Drake shook his head with practiced patience.

“Oh… what did you say last night…? Oh!” Sitting up, Gosalyn faced her dad, who leaned one arm over the back of the seat to open up to her. “You know I know better than to trespass, right?”

He nodded.

“Dad!”

“Okay, okay, yes, I know,” he held his hands up in surrender.

“Good. Um, you know I know better than to get in fights, right? Because I didn’t! I just scared them off!”

“I noticed,” he poked the edge of her bill, “and I do know that.”

“ _Dad!_  … And you know that I… that I don’t like being picked up by the police all the time and … And I don’t like you … I don’t like being in trouble.”

“I know that,” Drake nodded.

“Then you know that I’m … I don’t like it and I don’t like making you mad or scared. And I … I’m sorry I did? I’m sorry I did. Made you mad. And scared. And got in trouble.”

“I do know that.” Brushing her bangs from her face, Drake smiled at her. “And I know that you don’t mean to, and are trying really hard to get better. And I’m very proud of you for that. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do… I love you Dad,” Gosalyn blushed, leaping into Drake’s open arms.

“I love you too, Gossy. What do you think needs to happen now?”

The teen pulled back, rolling her eyes back in thought. “Uuuuuum, maybe home arrest for the rest of the week?”

“Fair enough,” Drake offered his hand for a shake. “And homework done before lunch for the rest of the week too.”

“Fine,” she sighed, shaking the hand.

“Welp, now that the sucky-parts of parenting are out of the way…” Hopping off the seat, Drake grabbed his jacket from the hook near the door.

“Dad!” Gosalyn cried, offended.

“Kidding! Anyway, now that that’s done, I’m heading out to grab some ‘move in grub’, and was wondering if  _you_ , Miss House Arrest, would like to join me.”

“You mean it?” the teen smiled, quickly stacking her school books and dropping them on the seat next to her. “Do I ever!” Hurrying after her dad, Gosalyn snatched her letterman off the hook near the door and slammed it closed behind her.

 

* * *

 

The shopping center, a chain they had never been to, had great overhead music going for it if nothing else. Dancing and singing to the classic rock down the aisles, the two collected their groceries, which mainly consisted of Gosalyn putting her favorites in the cart and Drake putting them back on the shelves. Once in a while, however, he’d shrug and let her keep something, because everyone deserves a special treat every now and then. Gosalyn was in charge of keeping track of the prices of everything they collected, which meant taking pictures of them. At the checkout, they put their heads together to whittle away at their haul, eventually leaving with everything they would need for their celebratory meal, and something to hold them over until the next paycheck, all while staying, somehow, in budget. Despite all the returned groceries, it was a success in Gosalyn’s eyes, so she insisted on treating them both to the closest StarDucks, which Drake never turned down.

 

* * *

 

While Drake sipped on his coffee, Gosalyn scratched her head, scribbling furiously over her math problem on the coffee shop’s napkins. So far they hadn't been recognized by anyone, not that Gosalyn would have noticed, but Drake did let her give her name for their orders instead of his own. He wasn't exactly expecting trouble, but he and the city had an unique relationship that Gosalyn might never appreciate, so he kept his ears and eyes open for any trouble. But the streets downtown had been emptier and quieter than he ever imagined St. Canard could be, and it was unnerving. Even the old "Fresh Takes" grocery store had empty shelves and barely any fresh produce to speak of, its old claim to fame in the water-logged city. At least there was a _Starducks_ left, one of the last marks of St. Canard's golden age left. Drake even remembered when it came to town. Darkwing has been asked to cut the ribbon at Town Hall that opened the new business district where more recognizable national chains had out-bought the local mom-and-pop places. It hurt the local folks, but the wave of tourists and new business-people certainly didn't complain. The _Starducks_ even had a picture of the event framed in some dusty old corner of the restaurant behind a plastic plant, and Drake tried not to stare at it too long.

His own plastic smile and puffed up chest gave made him shiver.

After a few moments of her wheels turning, Gosalyn squawked in triumph, pulling her father from his thoughts and back into the quiet coffee shop. He blinked as she handed the napkin to him triumphantly, presenting it under his bill with a smirk. He grinned himself and took the napkin. After just a brief scan, however, he pulled his red pen from his jacket, and clicked it open.

“Aaaaah rats,” Gosalyn whined, snatching her smoothie off the table and flopping back into her seat. She slurped unhappily while Drake marked on the equation and handed it back after a few scribbles.

“You forgot a parenthesis,” he smiled and the teen yanking the napkin from him.

“What?! Where?!” her eyes finding the mistake, thanks to his generous scribbling, she threw it back on the table with a snarl. “Double rats! I’m never going to get it!”

Drake finished his long slurp of his drink, swallowing with a happy grin and leaning on his elbows. “Yes, you will, you just have to remember your playbook.”

“News flash, Dad,” she narrowed her eyes at him, “you can’t use sports metaphors to solve  _everything_  in life.”

“Well, I tried,” the mallard shrugged, sitting back in his chair and mixing his coffee with his straw. Glancing over his shoulder, Gosalyn choked on her smoothie suddenly, coughing and vaulting onto the table. “Slow down there, Gonzales,” the older Mallard frowned at her, sitting up a little straighter.

“Speaking of news flashes,” she wiped her bill, pointing at the television that hung in the shop’s counter. Drake turned to it, a frown shadowing his face.

“Hey,” he called to someone behind the counter, “excuse me? Could we turn that up some, please? Thank you." Gosalyn stood quickly and followed her dad towards the TV, stopping next to him.

_“…considering yesterday’s... incident, we are increasing security at DW Studios effective immediately.”_

Apparently, St. Canard’s favorite news station was holding a personal interview with a blond-haired ferret in a cheap suit, sporting a smug grin.  _Darkwing Duck_  flashed across the screen in big letters, and Portia Featherly smiled at her victim, something in her eyes sparkling.

“Who’s this clown?” Gosalyn asked and Drake crossed his arms.

“Officer Slick Adder,” he identified the ferret on screen, who was practically winking at the interviewing duck. “Well, apparently he’s ‘Senior Detective’, now. Met him a long time ago. Wasn’t a fan, either of us. And that’s you they’re talking about, young lady.”

“Wow,” she smiled up at the TV, “keen gear!”

“No, it’s not! Now hush!”

 _“Has the incident at all affected the case, Senior Detective?”_  Featherly asked, and Drake noted how Adder seemed to sit up a little straighter at the title. He grimaced involuntarily. Adder was always a character who believed he was worth everything the world was failing to give him, and was pretty impatient in receiving it. But apparently he had set his ego aside long enough to become a detective. And senior detective at that.

Oxford's recruitment levels must have been down lately.

 _“…We_ are _pursuing a few new leads in the investigation, unconnected to yesterday’s incident, but will not be disclosing their identities at this time. Sorry, Miss Featherly.”_

“How do you know all these people?” Gosalyn slurped at her smoothie and glanced at her dad.

“Uh," Drake blinked, his mind faltering for a moment in recalling a single specific memory he shared with the rodent. But he could feel a specific memory knocking, but seemed to have forgotten which door to open. "I've... when you live and work in one place your whole life, you tend to know people," he stumbled while combing down his head fathers, but a sneaking glance at Gosalyn next to him told him that she was, at least, convinced. "Now hush!" 

“But—”

“Hush!”

“Now wait a minute! If he’s just a Detective, why is he holding this personal interview and not a full press conference? And shouldn’t the actual Chief of Police be doing this instead?”

“Gosalyn! Hush!”

In the middle of Drake scolding his daughter, the story ended, cutting back a young, redheaded dog lady, who shared the screen with Featherly. The young lady had long red hair and bangs that waterfalled over her shoulders and face, and silver piercings in her ears.

“Oh great, now we missed it,” the mallard grumbled, motioning to the TV. “Thanks, Gos.”

“Who is that?” the teen motioned to it, and her and her father read the nameplate. “Roxanne Rose Dane?”

“She must be new,” sighed Drake as he returned to their table. The story had ended and he hadn't learned anything about the official investigation. And something was buzzing at the back of his head now, and he couldn't quite place what it was. “You don’t normally see Featherly share the screen with anyone. Actually, you never see it.”

 _“That was Detective Slick Adder,”_  the redhead smiled, something about her soft and creamy voice immediately making Gosalyn smile. Roxanne was young, eager, and sounded kind, unlike the stiffly grinning, wrinkle-faced duck next to her. Featherly's forced sign of companionship made the creases at the corners of her eyes somehow worse, beyond even the help of her heavy make up.

 _“That was_ Senior _Detective Slick Adder,”_ she bit with a smile in Roxanne's direction, _“Miss Dane. It’s best not to forget the proper titles of your guests,_ my dear _.”_

 _“Uh-of course."_ Roxanne's smile faltered, a small blush replacing it. Gosalyn recrossed her arms and scowled, quite unhappy with Featherly for completely unnecessarily humiliating the poor girl. But Roxanne seemed to be taking it in stride, and when Featherly refused to continue the story, she whimpered at her strongest apology. _"My apologies. Senior Detective Slick Adder, thank you for that exclusive interview. Though Detective Adder is reluctant—”_

_“Though Senior Detective Adder is reluctant to share any additional information on the new suspects…”_

“Wow,” Gosalln whistled, “Featherly is green in several ways, it seems.”

_“… this channel has acquired exclusive footage from the day of the fire just a few days ago, of what appears to be a suspicious individual sneaking into the old DW Studio just minutes before the fire broke out.”_

“Finally,” the teen heard her dad huff from behind her, " _someone_ in this town knows how to run an investigation.”

“Uh, Dad?” she muttered, twisting around to catch his attention. The mallard, frowning at her, glanced to the TV and choked on his coffee.

The “exclusive footage” was a snapshot of an individual who bore an uncanny resemblance to Darkwing Duck himself, over-sized bill and purple suit and all, sneaking into the old studio. 

 _"This channel has confirmed that this individual is none other than washed-up_ Darkwing Duck  _leading actor and leading writer - Drake Mallard. Whom, according to alleged reports, has just recently returned to St. Canard."_

Frozen on the spot, Drake stared at the screen.

“Hehe,” Gosalyn shrugged, “too bad someone in this town knows how to run an investigation.”


	4. St. Canard's Finest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new, dangerous player enters the mix, and Drake and Gosalyn find themselves at the mercy of some corrupt "public heroes." Portia Featherly, on the wings of the danger, introduces a new element to the mystery.

The car windows rattled as Drake slammed the door shut. He stormed around it and to the trunk to wrestle it open as Gosalyn followed with a non-too-subtle roll of her eyes.

“I don’t  _believe_  this! Do people  _seriously_  think I would break into and then try to burn DW Studio? I wasn’t even St. Canard when the fire happened! I was in Spoonerville! With you! MOPPING!”

“ _I_  know that, Dad,” Gosalyn circled to the trunk, grabbed an armful of bags and waited for her dad to unlock the trailer, "and _you_ know that, but _clearly_ no one else knows that."

Pausing, Drake faced her briefly. “I don’t get it. Who would want to frame  _me_  for arson?” When the door finally swung open at his kick, Goslyn moved for the steps after Drake stepped inside. Poking his head back out suddenly, the teen yelped in surprise as he continued to scowl in confusion down at her. "And why?"

"Frankly," Gosalyn squeezed past him and into the trailer as he headed back for the last load, "I would be more worried about Featherly just announcing our presence to the entire city. How does she even know, anyway? And what right does she have to reveal our location to everyone, anyway?!"

“I know the show didn’t end on the best terms," Drake continued as he re-entered the trailer, "but this? All this time later? Why is this all happening now, so suddenly?"

"Maybe because someone tried to burn the place down and people around here our bored out of their minds," suggested the teen as she crossed to the door. "Is that the last of them?"

"And what about Featherly revealing our return like that? She can't do that, can she?"

"I'll just double check," she replied, swinging the door open. Yelping suddenly, she slammed it shut and collapsed against it as if the next world-wide flood was heading straight for their front door and she was bracing for impact.

"It's all just too strange for me," Drake was muttering, completely oblivious to the panicked pumps of air Gosalyn's lungs were beginning to simultaneously demand and reject from her body.

"...!"

She panted for breath, but neither air nor any breath were captured enough to form any kind of cry of warning.

"Why would someone want to set fire to the Studio? Gosalyn, dear, put the produce away, please."

"...d-Dad!"

"I get that's it's probably just some old, abandoned dump now, but I thought this city still respected DW! That place is practically a historical monument! Gosalyn - are you getting this produce or - Gosalyn?"

Still bracing against the door and unable to breath, the teen just shook her head and dropped it. The cans in his hands forgotten, Drake crossed to her quickly.

"Gos? Honey? Breathe, Gos, breathe!"

"The - the - POLICE!"

Suddenly, the door exploded open, and everything went white.

The rough gravel of the parking lot bit into Drake as he was shoved onto it. The ringing from the flash-bomb were finally fading as, and a loud, cursing voice swam into his hearing. After another few seconds of struggling, he realized it was his own.

"...go! Let her go! She didn't do anything! She - Gosalyn!"

“Dad!” the teen wheezed, and Drake thrashed to get free and scramble to her, where ever she was.

The panic attack was already underway, and if she didn't calm down...

Drake grunted when a knee was planted in his back and a voice growled at him to keep still. Still, he ignored it, continuing to struggle.

"Let me get to her! You're going to get her killed! She needs medical help! Gosalyn - ack!" Coughing, Drake coughed and spit the spray of gravel and dust that had just been kicked in his face out of his mouth. Glare at the ready, he fired it upwards, and into the smug smirk of a certainly blond weasel.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” sneered Senior Detective Slick Adder, glaring triumphantly down at Drake. “We got an anonymous tip that we could find you and your accomplice here, you little firebugs. Looks like our source was right.”

“We had nothing to do with that fire!” Drake protested, rolling his shoulders, desperate to relieve the pressure from the knee planted between them. “I’m being framed, and Gosalyn is in no way related to the whole thing!"

“But isn’t she?” Slick tugged his tailored suit pants up and knelt close to Drake’s face, the scent of his entirely-too expensive cologne wafted over the mallard. “My, how quick a loving parent is to forget their only child’s transgressions.” Slick glanced somewhere over Drake's shoulder, and he struggled to glance that way as well. “You must have a lot of practice.”

One nod from Slick, and whomever was crushing Drake was removed, only for him to be yanked to his feet and dragged towards a waiting patrol car.

"Where is Gosalyn?!" he cried, kicking and struggling against the arms that held his own behind him. "She's having a panic attack - I need to see her! Gosalyn! GOSALYN!!"

 

* * *

 

The interrogation room was stuffy, smelly, and overcrowded, and the fumes billowing off Drake did nothing to improve the situation.

Or discourage the two over-sized officers currently howling with laughter at his expense.

“I told you,  _Officers_ ,” he growled at the cadets, giving the handcuffs they strung through a hook on the table and around his wrists a small rattle, "we weren’t even in the city! We were both in Spoonerville! Call my old boss, he’ll tell you I was at work all day!”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Darkwing,” the cop scoffed, “we even checked with Bushroot and Quackerjack! And they said the same thing!”

The two howled again, one beating his fist on the table. The metal sheet jolted about wildly, and Drake bounced around with it.

“Please,” he grunted, shifting his similarly metal chair back under him, “stop calling me that. Darkwing Duck was a character I played on a television show! My name is Drake, Drake Mallard!”

“No, no, you’re right,” the other cop nodded, “you do deserve a little more respect. After all, you’re the terror that splats in the night!”

Their uproarious laughter filling the room, and Drake screwed his eyes shut. His temper was boiling over, and if he held it back anymore, there would be permanent damage. But for Gosalyn, he forced himself to keep breathing steadily.

For Gosalyn.

"Where is my daughter, is she okay, and when can I speak with her? She had a panic attack! I need to make sure she's okay!"

“I don’t know,” one cop shrugged, “probably in ten-to-twenty when she gets out of juvie."

“WHAT?!” Drake cried, leaping to his feet. The chair clattered sideways behind him and the cops flinched slightly. They had, for some reason, not expected the duck they had been teasing and mocking to actually have any interest in fighting back.

“Oh- oh yeah, she’s got quite a record,” the other replied with a forced shrug. “Why, just the other day we caught her sneaking around in that old studio, messing with stuff and leaving her fingerprints all over the place.”

“That had nothing to do with -!"

“Now, what was she doing in there?” the slightly larger cop asked, leaning on the table so he was eye level with the enraged mallard. “Looking for another spot to start the next fire? Finishing the job? Or maybe she’s just got a little fire-centered habit daddy likes her keeping under wraps. It might explain why you two are moving constantly. I mean, we both know the kind that she is: trouble maker. Problem child. Future delinquent.  _Orphan_.”

That was the final straw. Drake reared back and smashed his forehead into the center of the officer’s face, leaping as far as he could from the table as the officer stumbled in the opposite direction with a wail of pain. “MY DAUGHTER IS NO PROBLEM CHILD!” the duck roared.

Stunned, and while his buddy gripped his bleeding nose, the other charged around the table and at Drake. But the duck was quicker, even while anchored down, and swung the metal chair between them and kicked it, the metal clattering painfully into the cop. Dodging the first officer's grab at him, Drake leaped onto the table, kicked the bloodied cop off of it, and knelt low, waiting for either of them to come at him. “I’M THE ONE THIS CITY HATES! I’M THE ONE YOU WANT! GOSALYN HAD NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS, AND IF YOU BLUBBERING IDIOTS THINK YOU’LL GET AWAY WITH PINNING EVEN ONE SUSPICION ON HER HEAD-!!”

“DAD!!”

All madness halting, Drake spun towards the door.

"Gos?!"

While Drake's back was turned, the cop that finally untangled himself from the chair seized the duck into a choke hold and wrestled the kicking mallard off the table and flattening him across it. One elbow dug into the center of Drake’s back, pinning him down and forcing the air from his lungs as he and daughter loudly protested.

“Let him go!!” Gosalyn screamed from the doorway, bloody-nose-officer grabbing her before she could charge at the duo.

“LET GO OF HER!” Drake wheezed, trying to shift the weight to breathe more easily. Or breathe at all, the mammoth of a cop still stretching him out across the table. “Gaah!”

"You're hurting him! Let him go!!"

“She’s right,” Chief Oxford Bully snarled, his deep voice booming out over the chaos and reverberating off the concrete walls.

And suddenly, once the tremors stopped, the entire room was still.

Stepping into the open door frame behind the teen, Oxford glared at his two officers. Drake’s wheezing breaths were the only sound within the cell, accompanied by the jingle of the handcuffs as he tried to wiggle free. Slowly and patiently, Bully stretched to his full height, refusing to drop his gaze from the officer on top of Drake as he folded his massive arms behind his back. “Let Mr. Mallard go, Cadet. NOW!”

“But chief,” Bloody-nose-officer argued, continuing to wrestle with Gosalyn, “he attacked us!”

Growling, Gosalyn landed one kick to the zipper on his uniform pants, and slipped past the screaming officer as he howled in pain. Bully stepped between them preemptively just in case as Gosalyn dashed ahead.

“I said NOW!”

Ignoring Bully, Gosalyn vaulted onto the table and glared down at the officer that was crushing her father, who had become alarmingly still. Her tall shadow loomed over them both.

 

**“Let my dad go.”**

 

No one moved, and Gosalyn snarled. After catching a quick cut from Bully's glare, the officer shoved off Drake. Immediately, the duck coughed and wheezed, collapsing to the floor and rattling the handcuffs as his wrists hung by them.

“Dad!” Gosalyn yelped, leaping down and helping the sputtering duck into his chair.

“Gos-lyn,” he coughed, “are you - you're okay-?"

"Dad!" the teen whimpered, pulling her dad into arms and clinging to him.

"I'm - you're okay, Gos," he coughed, hugging her close with his still handcuffed arms the best he could. "You're okay, I've got you know. Breathe, in and out. In and out..."

"I - I thought they would - they said - they said they were going to ship me out!" Gosalyn stammered, head rearing back as her terrified green eyes clung to his own.

"They what?" Drake snapped his attention to the officers long enough to glare at them.

"You what?" Bully snarled, also turning on them. They had the decency to at least quiver a little under the Chief's glare.

“He attacked us,” the larger officer motioned for the two ducks weakly.

“Bull-hockey!” Drake swore sharply. "They told me they shipped Gos out, Oxford! That – that they pinned her as the arson!”

“They did?” Gosalyn whimpered, her dad meeting her eyes.

“We did no such thing,” one cop replied.

“Oh, shove it up your bill, Ducks-a-lot,” snapped the furious mallard, turning to the Chief. “Check the video, Bully! And check our alibis while you’re at it  _since these two certainly didn’t!_  We weren’t anywhere close to St. Canard when the fire happened!”

“I already have,” Bully crossed his massive arms, aiming a reassuring look at the two ducks. “And they check out. You are both free to go. Unlock the handcuffs, Cadet. And see that Miss Mallard gets medical attention."

"No," she whimpered, and Drake leaned further into her grip.

"They're not separating us again," he whispered back. "I promise."

The officers, meanwhile, didn’t move.

“If I have to tell you again, Cadet, your future badge is mine.”

Grumbling, the officer dragged himself forward and did so. Drake rubbed his aching, well, everything, before Gosalyn leapt into his arms. She buried her face in his tee shirt and practically smothered him as he rubbed her arms, back, head, whatever he could get his hands on.

“Are you okay, Gossy?” he asked, pulling her back to look her over and brushing her messy hair out of her face. Gosalyn slapped the hands aside and buried her face in his shoulder again.

“I thought they  _would_  ship me out, Dad,” she muttered, and Drake wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close.

"Just breathe, baby."

“They said you were already under arrest!"

"Breathe, Gosalyn."

"And they had my fingerprints - and - and -!”

“I wasn’t going to go anywhere without you, or let anyone take you away from me,” he replied, pulling Gosalyn back and holding her eyes in his own. Gosalyn offered a trembling smile, peeling one of Drake's hands off her face and hold it tightly against her chest. Drake gripped her cheek with his other hand and held her scared green eyes in his own. “Well, not without a fight. I told you that.”

Gosalyn searched him for a minute, finally nodding and hugging him again. Patting her head, he calmed her, fully aware of the glare he was getting from the cadets, but the protection they'd have under Bully's supervision.

"Does she need medical, Drake?" the bull asked softly, and Drake glanced down at the teen. She shook her head, and he did the same. With a nod, Bully chased the officers out of the room, gave them sharp instructions to meet him in his office after he sends the Mallards home, and returned quietly to the door.

He stood guard until they felt strong enough to stand and leave.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside, Gosalyn spun around and leaped in front of Drake, who slouched against the wall with a heavy groan. His ribs would be feeling the sharp edge of the table for a few days, and he was pretty sure the cop had nearly pulled an arm out of socket when he wrestled Drake off the table. But, he scanned over Gosalyn again, scooping her bangs from her scared green eyes, she seemed unharmed, and Bully certainly wasn't going to let anyone give them any trouble again.

Watching her dad carefully, Gosalyn asked him, “why didn’t you tell me you knew Chief Bully?”

“I, uh,” glancing up at Bully, Drake shrugged his shoulders, “figured you wouldn’t remember me.”

“Not remember you, Drake Mallard?” Bully chuckled, his round shoulders relaxing into their more common slump.

Shrugging, Drake pushed himself off the wall with a slight grimace and collected his things from the evidence box another officer offered him. “I mean, I know I did those spots and that – charity ball or whatever that was, but that was a long time ago.”

“Oh yes,” nodded Bully, “those commercials and charity drives saved, not only my job, but the jobs of a lot of good people in this department.”

Tossing Gosalyn an embarrassed look, Drake carefully pulled his jacket on and grinned shyly up at Bully. “Gee, I didn’t think it helped that much.”

“They certainly did,” Bully motioned for them to follow him, which Gosalyn did, “but  _I_  was thinking more about High School.”

“High School?” Gosalyn frowned, putting her hands on her hips. “Gee whiz Dad, do you know everyone in this town from high school?”

Still standing back by the interrogation room, already several steps behind them, Drake stared at the two, his brows bent in deep, fearful confusion. He was frozen still for a moment, enough for Gosalyn to take a half-step back to him.

"...Dad?"

“You were at High School?” he blinked, eyes drifting into an empty space.

Bully paused and glanced at Gosalyn, who watched her dad with intense worry. “I was,” the bull replied, stepping back to Drake, who was busy searching nothing. "We were partners in most every class, Drake. Mr. Mulligan kicked us both out of band freshman year.”

“Oh…” blushed the mallard, ducking his head and swiftly moving ahead of them and to Bully’s office, his hands stuffed in his pockets. He paused halfway, however, glaring at Senior Detective Slick Adder, who grinned at him, escorting three shady looking beagles to some back room of the station. “…yeah, of course. Mr. Mulligan.”

Gosalyn and Bully exchanged a worried look.

“To answer your question, Gosalyn,” the chief changed the topic quickly, entering the office after the other two and closing the door, “most everyone who went to St. Canard High ended up staying in St. Canard. That’s how the city was back then, for the most part. But right now,” Bully crossed behind Drake and to his desk, “I think this department owes you both a profound apology.”

“Not the whole department,” Drake corrected, sighing out whatever had been troubling him just a second ago, “just ‘Senior Detective Slick Adder’. When, by the way, did he make it to Senior Detective? Last I remember he was just ‘over-eager upstart’.”

“It took a long while,” Bully lowered himself into his chair with a heavy sigh, “especially after the city collapsed. Most everyone blamed the Police Department for the spike in crime and unrest.”

“Well that’s not fair,” Gosalyn grumbled, leaping onto one of the guest chairs lined up in front of Bully’s desk. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“But he certainly seems to be enjoying the title all the same,” Drake muttered, pressing his knuckle to the lip of his bill. “We all saw it.”

“We certainly did,” Bully stiffened, leaning back in his chair.

“And what’s with him running that ‘exclusive interview’, anyway?” asked Gosalyn. “ _And_  running the arrest on us? The helicopters were pretty cool, but even _I_  thought it was a little over the top.”

“Adder was, admittedly, running things outside of his own jurisdiction,” Bully confessed. “No matter how many warnings I’ve given him in the past about this sort of behavior.”

“Oxford,” Drake crossed his arms, “that guy has got both your SWAT team  _and_  your cadets in registration  _and_  your junior detectives in interrogation eating out of his hand. I don’t want to give unwarranted advice…”

“Then don’t, please,” Bully sighed. “This city has changed, Drake, since you left. It’s been a long, hard decline, and try as I might, my forces have been powerless to stop it. I guess I’ve been waiting for something like this to happen for a long, long time.”

“But how is he doing it?” asked Drake, finally leaving his place by the door and leaning on the corner of the desk. “Does he have that much pull in the department?”

“He certainly has pull coming from somewhere,” the bull nodded, “but, and I feel I can trust you both with this, I’m not entirely sure where it’s coming from.”

“Wait a minute, what does that mean for us?” the teen frowned, scooting to the edge of her seat. “He’s got the whole department thinking we’re the top two winners on  _Crime’s Most Wanted_!”

“That news cast from this afternoon certainly didn’t help,” Drake muttered, resuming his thinking pose.

“Do you think they can be related?” Bully asked, leaning towards the duck.

“You’re asking Dad?” Gosalyn almost chuckled, glancing between the two. “But  _you’re_  the chief of police.”

“And your father,” Bully motioned to Drake, who was aiming an offended glare at his daughter, “is one of the most observant and clever mystery solvers I have ever met. He wrote them for years, long before that TV show of his, and we still use some of them in our cadet training.”

“Keen gear!” gasped Gosalyn, looking up at her dad. “Really? You never told me!”

“I was chief writer for  _Darkwing_  for the first season or so,” he shrugged, “and I do love a good mystery. But,” he pointed at Bully quickly, “I’m  _no_  chief of police!”

“Yes  _buuuut_ ,” Bully lead, giving Drake a pleading look, “all thing considered… Drake, please.”

Drake glared at him for a minute, finally tossing his hands in the air.

“ _Buuuut_ , my advice, Bully,  _if you really want it:_  keep close tabs on your department’s interaction with the local news, especially Featherly, and who is doing so. It’s always the reporters in cases like this, and your Senior Detective could very well be in bed with her.”

Gosalyn watched her dad and Bully stand and move back to the door, jumping up quickly and following.

“Ew! Dad!”

Drake rolled his eyes as he stood by the door, Bully joining him. “Not literally! But, like I said, Oxford, I’m no chief of police. I’m just a hobbyist.”

“Preposterous,” Bully smiled, shaking Drake’s hand. “Someday, somehow, I’ll get you on the force.”

“You’ve been saying that since junior-high.”

A smile stretched across his face, and something in Bully relaxed. “And I’ve meant it long before that. As friends, Drake, and because you have your own family now, I will keep an eye out for you, for you both. Especially with everything that’s happened.”

“Thank you, Oxford,” Drake put his hands on Gosalyn’s shoulders. “You were always the one of the biggest reasons I came back to St. Canard after school, you know. Still are. And the single reason Darkwing was a detective.”

Bully laughed, a good, deep laugh that shook his shoulders and made the two Mallards smile, especially Gosalyn. “I always saw more of myself in that ‘Taurus Bulba’ character of yours.”

Gosalyn’s jaw dropped, the girl staring at the chief with bulging eyes.

“Mere matter of coincidence,” Drake shrugged, leading Gosalyn out the door. “Come along dear, let’s let these wonderful monkeys get back to their circus.” Pausing halfway through the main office, he waved again to the Chief, who waved back. “We really must  _never_  do this again, Oxford! Tootles!”

“DAD!” Gosalyn finally blinked, leaping ahead of her dad and facing him as they came to the front doors of the building. “He was – that guy – Taurus-!”

“Gosalyn,” Drake clicked his tongue, pushing on the front door, “we really must work on your habit of staring at others, it’s gotten much too out of hand. And your language, by the way.”

“Drake Mallard!” “Mr. Mallard!” “Mr. Mallard, over here!” “Mr. Mallard!”

Suddenly, as the two stepped through the front doors, what seemed like dozens of news reporters swarmed them, cameras flashing and mics being shoved into their faces. Drake covered himself instinctively and pushed Gosalyn behind him as the reporters circled them.

“What’s your involvement with the fires?” “Why return after all these years?” “Do you have any comment on-?” “What are your thoughts concerning-?” “Will Chief Bully be pressing charges?” “How is your daughter involved in all of this?”

“ENOUGH!” Drake screamed, the group finally going silent. “Yes, see? Thank you! Now that you lecturing leeches have had your fun, my daughter and I are going home to forget about this whole thing!”

“Mr. Mallard! Portia Featherly, St. Canard News!” Featherly pushed her way into Drake’s face, he and Gosalyn rolling their eyes in unison. “How do you plan to defend yourself against the charges of arson, given this channel’s exclusive evidence?”

“I don’t know where you’re getting your ‘evidence’, Featherly,” Drake mumbled, “actually, I’ve been wondering that for years, but you should really fire them, and no, that was not a pun. And yes, you  _can_  quote me on that. St. Canard’s finest brought me in for questioning, nothing more. Now that my alibi has cleared, I’ve been dropped from the investigation and they’ve moved on to bigger,  _legitimate_  suspects, simple as that.”

“So, you deny this proof…” Feathery shoved the photo of his look-alike outside the studio in Drake’s face, “…that you were at the DW Studio the night of the fire?”

“Lady,” Drake pushed the picture away with a small chuckle, “on your way home tonight pick up a dictionary. Any old kind will do. When we do, flip to ‘proof’, it should be somewhere between ‘pronoun’ and ‘propaganda’, and take a nice long read. Then ask yourself: does a single picture that captures a likeness of an individual at one spot when said individual was clearly and realistically at an entirely different spot really qualify?”

“The answer will shock you!” Gosalyn piped up.

Featherly glared at them, speaking through gritted teeth and a forced smile. “So, you deny it?”

“Featherly, ladies and gentlemen of the press, let me put it another way: why,  _in all that is sane and natural in this world,_  would I possibly  _ever_  want to set fire to that studio? I dedicated years of my life, my daughter’s life, and the lives of the crew and cast to that studio, trying our hardest to make something great. And at the end of the day, I still believed that we did. Darkwing Duck was a hero to a lot of kids out there, and I’m sick and tired people kicking dirt on that just because of some bad publicity five years later. Darkwing was a hero, just leave it at that and let him rest in peace.”

“Well,” Featherly smiled and produced a small bundle of papers from her pocket, “despite those …  _touching_  words, claims have recently surfaced about just what those many years of dedication really looked like, Mr. Mallard, and according to my exclusive source, those actors and crew members you spoke so highly of all suffered at your hands, blaming the show’s cancellation to an, and I’m quoting here, ‘over-inflated and unsatisfied arrogance and unrealized hero complex within Drake Mallard himself, which reflected through in his harsh treatment and sometimes relentless emotional and mental bullying of actors and crew members alike’. Any comments on  _that_ , Mr. Mallard?”

Stunned, Drake blinked, coming to life with a shake of his head. “Give me that!” he snapped, tearing the papers from Featherly’s hands, him and Gosalyn crowding close to read it. “Where did you get this?”

“Those are the claims, Mr. Mallard,” Featherly replied, snatching the bundle back. “Any comments?”

Drake yelped as the reporters closed in on him and Gosalyn again, whom he threw his arms over to shield. Questions flew at them from all sides, and Drake finally seized the closest mic, screaming into it.

“Yeah, I’ve got a comment: WE ARE BOTH GOING HOME!!”

With a few shoves, Drake cleared a path through, pulling Gosalyn closely after him.

“You heard it here first,” Featherly reported to her camera, “Drake Mallard failed to deny any of the accusations that this channel just brought you as a news exclusive. We will have to wait and see just what else comes to light as the ‘terror that flaps in the night’ finally ends. Back to you, _Dame_.”


	5. St. Canard is Growing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More family fluff! Some very rich visitors from Duckburg come calling on Drake and Gosalyn. Later, the Mallards make a new friend, and uncover a huge key to the mystery.

The latest episode of  _Grease Monkeys_  ended, and Gosalyn pulled the headphones off her head, hearing that their new neighbors in the crummy hotel room had finally stopped yelling at them and trying to bash their door down. She glanced that way and caught sight of her dad, frowning in worry at that sight.

Drake was sitting in the center of the other dusty motel room bed, between her and the door, the lights in the room casting a green light on his white feathers. Or maybe he had started to turn green, working himself up to getting sick. It wouldn’t be the first time. Completely unaware of her movement, he was crossed legged, his elbows resting on his knees, and his large bill resting in his hands. His eyes stared intently at nothing, and he scowled, thinking of plenty of things all at once, and if Gosalyn had to guess, none of them were pleasant.

What Chief Bully had said about her father being a brilliant detective made a lot of things about the mallard make sense in Gosalyn’s eyes. Her thirst for action and physical activity had always been matched by his thirst for discovery and intellectual stimulation. While Gosalyn put hockey sticks and roller blades on her birthday wish list, Drake was more than happy to bury himself in mystery novel after mystery novel, sometimes new ones and sometimes old ones. Sometimes, he’d branch out into scientific textbooks that Gosalyn had always assumed was far beyond his understanding. He just read them because it made him look smarter. But sometimes, she would catch him reading old rejected cartoon scripts, or combing through scrapped TV concepts. Her dad was a puzzle solver and a writer, and had an unhealthy knack for diving so deep into a mystery he sometimes forgot which way was up. And this current mystery centered around him and his family, so there was no telling how turned around he was at the moment.

Their trip from the police department had not been pleasant. Past the gang of snappy reporters had been a mob of unhappy citizens. Drake had been recognized on the street, and the citizens of busy St. Canard had flocked to him, not for autographs, but to throw their own accusations and hurtful words at him. He’d finally called a taxi, shoved Gosalyn inside, and, after offering the driver an extra tip just to service them, asked to be taken to the nearest motel. Of course, the driver had taken them to this dump, and didn’t spare his own biting questions of the duck. He pulled into the parking lot and dumped them on the curb, Drake tossing the money at him, and dragged Gosalyn to the reception desk. She recognized him as well, but had enough decency left to give them both a room for the night and even offer Gosalyn, for whom she had shown considerably more compassion, a spare charger for her phone. Then, after getting to their rooms through the gathering mob of angry motel visitors, they had both collapsed, throwing themselves onto the beds and into whatever best distracted them.

Suddenly, Gosalyn threw herself on the bed next to Drake, the movement knocking his concentration loose, and he squawked in surprise.

“Come on, Dad,” she wrapped an arm around her dad’s shoulders, sitting up on her knees next to him, “it’s not that bad! Look on the bright side…” snatching the TV guide off the nightstand between the beds, she waved it in front of him. “At least this crummy place comes with a cable package! We don’t get that at the trailer!”

Sighing, Drake took the guide gently from her hand, sliding off the bed and to his feet. “I guess so, Gos… but – Oh! I hate that it’s come to this!” Drake spun around to face her, fire in his eyes.

“Here we go,” Gosalyn grinned to herself, scooting around to face him and making sure she was comfortable.

Ignoring her comment, Drake continued. “On the run in my own city! This city called me ‘King’ once! I was what made St. Canard great! I put this stinking town on the map! And  _now_  look at us! Paraded around like wild animals after the hunt! On the run from the most common of citizens like – like common criminals!”

Climbing onto the bed next to her, Drake combed her bangs out of her eyes. “I’m sorry that it’s come to this, Gosalyn. I really am. I – I should have  _never_  come back here! St. Canard doesn’t want us here anymore! She’s done everything she can to kick us out and keep us out!” Sliding back off the bed, Drake paced back and forth between the twin bunks. “It was  _so obvious_ , I should have seen the signs! But, did I stay away?  _Noooooo!_  Did I head the stupidly obvious warning signs and avoid all this heartbreak and betrayal? Hah! What do you take me for? A smarty-pants?” Collapsing backwards, he stretched out across the bed, grunting at his previous injuries and sighing. A moment passed as he stared up at the ceiling.

“… You done?” Gosalyn asked, leaning over him.

“Almost,” Drake replied, rolling onto his stomach. “They call this a bed?” he frowned, pushing on the mattress with his hands. “I’ve slept on concrete floors softer than this. Anyway, hand me a pillow, wouldja?” Gosalyn did so. “Thank you.” Balling it up, Drake mashed his face into it repeatedly. “ _Stupid_  Drake.  _Stupid_  Mallard.  _Stupid_  father.  _Stupid_  St. Canard.  _Stupid_  Darkwing Duck!  _Stupid_  studio!  _Stupid_  arson!  _Stupid_  Portia Featherly!  _Stupid_  Oxford Bully!  _Stupid_  Slick Adder!  _Stupid stupid memory!_   _Stupid_  High School!  _Stupid_  trailer park!  _Stupid_  stinking motel with more rats than guests!  _Stupid_!  _STUPID_!” Releasing a long breath, he slumped over the bed with a sigh, Gosalyn laying down next to him.

“Now are you done?”

Another sigh, and he rubbed at his eyes. “I think so.”

“Good!”

_WHUMP_

“OW!” Drake squawked, bolting backwards and off the bed, the pillow Gosalyn had just whacked him with still in her hands.

“Come on sour puss,” she whined, jumping to her feet and wiggling her tail with challenge. “You’re getting me all down in the dumps! This here is the life!”

“How,” Drake, now on the floor, leaned over the edge of the bed, gazing up at Gosalyn with an unimpressed expression, “exactly, is this ‘the life’? And to which ‘life’ are you referring?”

Another attack by the pillow, and Drake ducked, scooting across the carpet and against the other bed.

"The kind where no one cares if we destroy the pillows or break their sheets-of-iron beds! Come on, Dad…” yanking the pillow out of the case, which she wrapped around her hand like a boxing glove, the teen smiled at down at him, “you want to get beat up again today? By a little girl no less?”

“First,” Drake held up one finger, completely unfazed by his daughter’s display, “you are nowhere  _near_  a ‘little girl’, so don’t even try to play that card. Second, I have  _not_  been beaten up today! I was merely practicing self-restraint out of respect for the law and those whom enforce it. And third…” standing, Drake flipped up through the air and landed on the bed behind him, also disemboweling the pillows, “we really need to discuss your language, little missy. It has gotten to alarming levels.”

“Shut up, gander-handle.”

“Oh,” Drake growled, a wide grin on his face, “that is  _it_.”

All at once, Drake kicked his disregarded pillow into the air, launching it at Gosalyn with another spinning kick, who deflected it with the shield she had just made out of her own pillow. Lowering it, she squawked, Drake landing on the bed next to her, hooking an arm around her shoulders in a chokehold. A move like this would have been debilitating on anyone else, but was something they practiced regularly. Using the pillow to smoother him, Gosalyn dropped to a kneel and escaped the hold, pouncing on the other bed. Drake readied his two pillows and she grabbed the spare from her new base.

“All your pillows are belong to us!” he mocked, and Gosalyn grimaced.

“Really Dad, it’s no wonder the show had terrible dialogue.”

“Hey! That was a topical reference!”

“Yeah,” she straightened, “from like five years ago.”

Considering it, Drake shrugged, dropping back into his fighting stance, Gosalyn mirroring him. “Fair.”

“Well, you know what they say,” circling around each other, both ducks hopped to the opposite beds at once, “all is fair in love and war. And, gander-handle, this ain’t love.”

“I’ll say.” Ripping a blanket off the bed, Drake posed with it like a cape, covering his bill and body behind the curtain. “Let’s get destructive.”

 

* * *

 

 

The front door to the trailer opened with a small grunt from Drake, shoving the clatter and mess that laid on the other side across the floor, and letting a small line of light shine through. With one more heave, he opened the door fully, flipping on the lights.

“Gee whiz,” the two Mallards mumbled in unison, Gosalyn stacked behind her father on the stairs. The trailer looked like it had been turned upside down and given a tumble dry. Every item that could be moved had been, joining the other upturned and cluttered objects in a thick blanket across the tile. The cupboards were open, the fridge emptied, chairs turned over, and nearly every book the two owned, most of which were Drake’s, had landed spine up, pages crumbled.

“I’d love to see the warrant of whomever did this,” the mallard grumbled, beginning to collect his books and poking around the clutter to see what, if any, groceries could be saved.

“I’d love to see their backsides,” Gosalyn echoed, untangling her hockey net from a few pots and pans.

The gravel driveway outside rumbled as someone pulled up next to the trailer, and Drake pulled his head out of the fridge, swapping irritated looks with his daughter. Snatching a hockey stick, he waded his way to the door, Gosalyn stopping him. She held out their iron skillet, and Drake smiled, swapping weapons with her. After the girl righted herself behind him, Drake threw the front door open, leaping onto the stairs, frying pan above his head.

“Whatever you want with us, we don’t want any-  _yack!”_  Drake choked in surprise at the small, kilt-wearing duck that stood before him, a smug smirk on his bearded bill. “Flintheart Goldglom?”

Gosalyn poked her head out the door past Drake, frowning curiously. “You mean  _Glomgold_?  _The_  Flintheart Glomgold? The ba-jillionaire?”

And she was right. The short duck was round and short, with a stringy silver beard, a green kilt, and pointed cane in his hand. Glomgold laughed a terrible, guttural sound, pointing his cane at the two Mallards. “That’s right, little lassy, I’m Flintheart Glomgold, the richest duck in the world!”

“I thought you were the second richest duck in the world,” Gosalyn replied flatly, crossing her arms.

“I am not!”

Lowering the fry pan while Gosalyn rolled her eyes, Drake blinked down at the duck. “First richest, second richest, whatever. What are you doing  _here_? At our trailer?”

“Aye, I’ve come tah speak with yah, Mr. Mallard,” Glomgold tilted his head to show off his beard, which he combed one hand through with practiced dignity. “I’ve got a little… business proposition for yah.”

Blinking, Drake and Gosalyn met each other’s eyes, sharing a confused scowl.

 

* * *

 

 

The Glomgold limo, which was decorated on each end with Glomgold flags, parked mere inches away from the curb, Drake climbing out before the chauffeur could reach the door.

“You want to buy DW Studio?” the mallard repeated, watching Gosalyn jump after him, the chauffeur helping Glomgold to the sidewalk. “Why?”

“Yeah,” Gosalyn bounced next to Drake, leaning an elbow on her father’s shoulders. “It’s worthless. Just a pile of old junk and a little bit of ash for flavor.”

“Really?” Drake scowled at Gosalyn. “But, I mean - she’s not wrong.”

Laughing, Glomgold locked a short arm around Drake’s elbows, shaking him. “I’m not so much buying this hunka’ land from you, Drakey. Think of it more as I’m doing you a  _favor_.”

Letting go, Glomgold waddled happily to the studio’s front steps, Drake tossing Gosalyn a suspicious look, who shrugged. Turning, they followed Glomgold, who strained and struggled to push the front doors open. With a roll of his eyes, Drake stepped past Glomgold and pulled on the door, motioning for the round duck to enter first. He did, parading proudly past Drake, whom Gosalyn stepped next to. She pounded one fist into her other palm, Drake starting with fright and shoving her into the dark foyer. “Regardless, Mr. Glumgod, I’m afraid you can’t buy the studio.”

“Glomgold,” Gosalyn corrected, crossing across the dark foyer.

“What?!” Glomgold cried, stepping away from Drake only to advance back on him, the startled Mallard taking a step backwards. “Why not?!”

“ _Because_  30% of it is owned by Scrooge McDuck and his banks,” Drake replied, putting his fists on his hips. “You’ll have to track whomever owns the rest of it if you really want to lay claims to this dusty wasteland.”

Several feet away, Gosalyn poked a lighting crane, which collapsed with a crash and cloud of dust. “Sorry,” she muttered, quickly returning to Drake’s side.

“Of course, it’s no wonder the other buyers aren’t tripping over themselves already,” he muttered, “considering the condition of this place.” He aimed a sharp glare at Gosalyn. “It’s practically sparkling.”

“Have thar been other buyers?!” Glomgold panicked, pointing his cane at the two, who yelped.

“No,” Drake pushed the cane away, “but I bet old Scrooge is more than ready to get this eyesore out of his books.”

“Hah!” cheered the Scottish duck. “I’ll have this studio from you yet, McDuck! You hear me! You can’t own everything in the world!”

Turning so Glomgold could get back out the front doors, which he pulled and yanked on, Gosalyn leaned over Drake’s shoulder, whispering to him. “No, just all the not-crappy stuff.” Drake tossed her a playful glance, pushing on the door with one hand over Glomgold's head, who tumbled out.

As the short duck hurried down the sidewalk and to his limo, rubbing his hands together, Drake and Gosalyn stood on the front step, watching him go. “Like I said,” Drake called, “I’d love to help you, Mr. Glimguard…”

“Glomgold.”

“Whatever… But hey, I’m no businessman. I’m just a washed-up actor.”

“Okay, okay, fair enough,” Glomgold muttered, climbing into his limo. “I’ll own this studio, Drakey, mark my words! Then we’ll see who’s washed-up!”

As the limo kicked up a spray of gravel, both Mallards waved after it with large grins. “Probably still you,” Drake smiled. Giggling, Gosalyn stepped off the steps, Drake suddenly smacking his own cheek. “Oh, crumb-cakes!” he recited. Slowly, horror etched on her face, Gosalyn turned to him, staring up at her dad.

".....  _what_?"

“I seemed to have misplaced my wallet. Gosalyn deary, won’t you please help me look for it? Silly old me must have dropped it in this dark, dusty studio,” he opened the door, motioning her through, “and you know how your daddy dearest’s eyesight is going these days.”

Stationary, Gosalyn stared at him, and Drake wilted. Since she clearly wasn't getting his drift, Drake grabbed her wrist and yanked the teen inside, pushing himself in after her and checking the parameter outside the studio before shutting the door behind them.

“Okay, Dad,” she tossed her bangs from her face, “what gives?”

“I know, I know,” Drake waved her concern off, turning his phone’s flashlight on, “I gave you my wallet in the limo.”

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

“Oh?” The mallard turned to her, Gosalyn padding to his side while turning her own flashlight on, handing him his wallet.

“I was talking about the acting. How  _Darkwing_  ever got green-lit is becoming a bigger and bigger mystery to me.”

“Hardy-har-har-har,” Drake snarled, swiping his wallet from her hands and hitting her head with his phone.

“But really,” Gosalyn watched her dad push further into the foyer, taking in all the details, “why tell Glomgold you dropped your wallet?”

“Gosalyn,  _I_  knew you had my wallet, and  _you_  knew you had my wallet, but Flinty out there didn’t, nor did the half a dozen other people that I suspect are watching this studio right now.”

“Wow, really? Keen gear!”

With grunt, Drake opened an “Employees Only” door near the back of the foyer that Gosalyn had completely looked over on her first visit. “Well, kind of. At least now we have the perfect excuse to come in and look around. No one is going to suspect company of Flintfart Glumguild.”

“I’m beginning to think you’re doing that on purpose,” Gosalyn muttered, stepping by her dad, who held the door open for her.

“Hmm, you think? Would you call that, maybe, misdirection? Like how I sent Glompgrits barking up Scrooge’s trees for a while instead of bothering us anymore? We’ve got enough attention on us as it is, we certainly don’t want the second richest duck in the world attracting anymore.”

Stunned, Gosalyn stopped on the spot and Drake walked past her. “Huh,” she smiled, catching up in a few quick steps. “Smooth as ever, Dad.”

“Where do you think Darkwing Duck got it?” asked Drake, pausing momentarily to frown at the hole Gosalyn had caused in the wall on her first visit.

“The writers?” she joked, trying to pull him away from it. Drake shook her hands off, and instead climbed through the hole and onto the set.

“Oh  _suuure_ , the writers gave Darkwing Duck all this natural skill and calculating character! Someone is on top of her comedic game today, isn’t she?”

“What can I say?” the teen shrugged, poking her head through the hole, “I’m at my best when breaking rules… Dad?”

Gently climbing over the rubble on the floor that surrounded the hole in the thin drywall, Gosalyn padded to her dad, who stood in the center of the old set, looking around. She watched his eyes roam over the set pieces, the cameras, the lights, the Ratcatcher, the old fake computers and machines, all the hidden entrances and exits, chasing around the ghosts that three years of filming and acting had left behind. She took his hand, which he gripped. They stood in silence for a moment, absorbing the atmosphere of the abandoned home.

“I haven’t been back here since we left town,” he muttered. “There’s ghosts on these sets, Gosalyn, ghosts I always thought had been put to rest when everything collapsed, but I see now they’ve only been restless. Restlessly wandering. Five years is a long time to wonder these dusty halls.” A small chuckle. “It’s no wonder they’re out for blood.”

Having said his peace, Drake gave her hand a small tug, leading her back to the hallway they had come from.

“You know Dad,” she ventured, following him to where she knew the dressing rooms were, “you never actually told me what happened.”

“What happened to what?” Drake muttered, dusting off Elmo’s nameplate on the door with his hand.

“To the show, Dad! To  _Darkwing_! Everyone is always talking around it, but no one is talking about it! Is what Featherly said – is that all true?”

Stunned, Drake turned on her. “What?!”

“We both heard her,” the teen snapped, crossing her arms. “She said you bullied the actors and the crew! Is that true? Is that why it ended?”

“Gosalyn,” Drake turned to her, putting his hands on his hips, “the show ended for lots of different reasons-!”

“And you haven’t told me a single one! What happened, Dad? I deserve to know!”

“Hush,” Drake snapped suddenly, putting one finger on the end of her bill, head turned behind them.

“Dad!” She quietly growled, jumping with fright when a loud crash rattled the floor and ceiling around them, coming from the end of the hall.

“My old office!” squawked Drake, rushing down the hall. “The thief is in my old office!”

“Office? You mean changing room?” Gosalyn frowned after him, realizing what he had said with a yelp. “Wait, what do you mean ‘thief’?!”

Stopping by the edge of the door, Drake noted that it was opened and the lock broken, holding his light at the ready. “I got a glimpse of the official report on the fire while being paraded through the police department,” he whispered, Gosalyn pressing against the wall next to him. “It said that the fire had been intentionally set in the foyer, and was never designed to spread anywhere else. Plus, because of all the dangerous elements in the show, this place is mostly fire resistant. The foyer is really the only place that could catch fire, not without a heck of a lot of accelerant.”

“But why would someone want to burn the foyer? There’s nothing in there but old junk.”

“The same reason one would send the second richest duck in the world chasing after the coattails of the first richest duck in the world.” Glancing around, Drake searched for a weapon of any kind, spotting the lighting fixture Gosalyn had decorated with the old hat and cape. “What in the world is that?”

“Oh!” Gosalyn rushed to it, undressing the figure and tossing the costume pieces aside. “Nothing, haha, just a little practical joke!”

Kneeling, Drake picked up the old costume. “Your practical joke is exactly what I need.”

Her bill wrinkled, Gosalyn frowned at him. “Come again?”

 

* * *

 

 

The office was dark but large, and in no way empty. Large enough for a full size vanity, office desk, towering file cabinets, and seemingly endless costume racks, every corner was filled with something, and the heaping piles seemed to suggest that the Drake Gosalyn had known had barely been in the room, though nothing could be further from the truth.

Inside the dark space, filled with stale old air, a few papers floated down through the air, having flown from the toppled file cabinets in the back of the room. Piles and piles of paper surrounded the metal cabinets, covering the little empty floor space with files and crinkled documents. Suddenly, the door exploded open in a cloud of smoke, drawing a startled squawk from the intruder.

“I am the terror that flaps in the night!”

Coiling through the room, the smoke reached the figure, who coughed, trying to wave it away. Poking her head into the office behind her dad, Gosalyn recognized the cough, her eyes lighting up.

“I am the eyes that watch you from the – Gosalyn!”

“Cool it,” the teen replied, shoving past her dad and rushing the figure. She waved the smoke clear, revealing the teen canary from before, who waved up at them shyly from where he was splayed across the floor. “I know that asthma.”

“You do?” Drake leaned over Gosalyn’s shoulder, staring down at the teen. The cape was around his shoulders and over-sized fedora on his head, where they hadn’t been in a very long time. “Who the heck are you?”

“YOU’RE DARKWING DUCK!” the teen squealed, clasping his hands together. “It’s – it’s truly an honor to meet you, sir!! I’M YOUR BIGGEST FAN!” Snatching his phone off the floor, Honker flashed a quick picture of Drake, who rubbed the dots out of his eyes.

“Ooooooooh,” Drake chuckled, crossing his arms and aiming a daring look at his daughter. “ _This_  kid. What’re you doing  _back here_?”

“Yeah,” repeated Gosalyn, shoving a file cabinet off the teen, who was pinned down by another larger one and stacks of papers. “And what are you doing  _in_  here? Covered with these things?”

“Oh, uh, I was in here looking around, this room has always been locked before, and these things just kind of… fell.”

“On top of you?!” gasped Drake, throwing papers off the cabinet and teen.

He shrugged. “I guess. It’s a little hard to breath, now that you mention it.”

“Good grief,” muttered Gosalyn, handing her father her light. “Here, go grab the other side.” Drake leaped over the cabinet and did so, both Mallards lifting it off the teen, who crawled to freedom.

“This is the greatest day of my life!” he squealed once he got to his feet, watching Drake and Gosalyn drop the cabinet. Rushing Drake, he grabbed the cape by the fistfuls, leaning over the shorter duck. “YOU’RE REALLY HIM, AREN’T YOU?! HOW DOES YOUR GAS GUN WORK? DID YOU REALLY TELL MORGANA YOUR REAL NAME? WHY DO THE VILLAINS ALL HAVE DIFFERENT BACKSTORIES IN SEASON 3 THAN THE EARLIER SEASONS? DID YOU REALLY KILL MEGAVOLT?! CAN I GET YOUR PICTURE??” Throwing one arm around Drake, Honker took a quick selfie, Drake rubbing his eyes again.

While Honker was distracted by his phone, Drake shrugged the cape off and backed towards Gosalyn and the mess of papers and files. “Look, kid, I’m just an actor! I’m not the real – uhhhh…” Realizing the iconic hat was still on his head, Drake snatched it off with another large grin. “Darkwing was just a character. That’s all. Ow!” Drake glared at Gosalyn, who had just elbowed him, the annoyed mallard rubbing his side. The teen nodded vigorously to the boy, who hung his head in shame.

“I know that, I’m sorry… I guess I just got carried away is all. It’s just - it’s too much to meet you! It’s a huge honor!”

Drake looked the skinny, scrawny canary up and down, and sighed. The kid seemed harmless at least, and exactly the kind of poor sap Gosalyn would leap to the rescue of. Brushing some dust off the rim of his fedora, Drake tossed it on the teen's head, offering his other hand for a shake. “Drake Mallard, kid, known in some circles as ‘Darkwing Duck’.”

Gasping happily, the teen grabbed Drake’s hand in both of his own, shaking it vigorously. “I’m Honker Muddlefoot, sir! It’s an – an honor to meet you! I’m your biggest fan! Well, Darkwing’s biggest fan,” he blushed. He suddenly shoved the phone in Drake’s face. “I even have the theme song as my ringtone! And look! Your old Season 2 promotional cutout at the mall!!” The background to the phone was a Honker when he was about ten, a chubby, rolly-poly little boy, hugging a Darkwing cutout around the neck tightly.

“Cute,” Drake offered his best grin, gently pushing the phone out of his face.

“Honker, what are you doing back here?” Gosalyn stepped forward, searching the pile of random papers in her hand with her phone-light. “I thought you hated the dark.”

“Oh, I do,” Honker nodded while Drake took the papers curiously from Gosalyn, who scooped up more from the piles around their ankles. “I brought a flashlight with me, but I guess that file cabinet crushed it when it – uh, fell on me.”

“This thing,” Drake pointed his light at the file cabinet, “really fell on you? Just toppled right over? Kid, a broken light should be the least of your worries. Your own lights could have gone out! Permanently!”

“Is that true?” Honker squeaked, watching Gosalyn step closer to him as Drake tiptoed through the sea to further investigate it. “I could – I could have died?!”

“Eh,” she shrugged. “Don’t mind Dad. He’s always been a little melodramatic.”

“I heard that!”

“’Dad’?” Honker frowned. “Wait!” He grabbed Gosalyn’s jacket like he had grabbed Drake’s, “you’re Drake Mallard’s daughter?! You’re THE daughter!! I NEED TO GET YOUR PICTURE!”

Leaping over the file cabinet suddenly, Drake slid down the pile of papers, hoping to their side. Halfway through Honker's selfie, Drake yanked them apart. “Cool it, Piper! What do you mean ‘the daughter’?”

“Oh! Uh,” wading back into the papers, Honker pulled a large leather-bound journal from it, turning back to them. He slipped, Drake and Gosalyn catching him. Ignoring them, Honker climbed and slipped out of the pile while flipping through the journal’s pages. “Here it is, sir,” he offered Drake the journal, him and Gosalyn crowding aorund it to read together.

> _"It's hard to believe, but I believe Drake has finally done it. He's finally gone too far. Along with his worthless attempts to soothe over the tensions he has only continued to worsen among the cast and crew after everything that's happened, as if he isn't blaming me for it all, Drake’s ever-decreasing energy and attention levels have been consumed with a new interest in the few remaining female crew-members, and forcing them into conversations around finding a suitable ‘sitter’ and discussing St. Canard Middle School. All this leads me to believe that Drake has increased his singularly family by one, most likely a daughter. THE daughter.”_  

Both Mallards were silent, Gosalyn searching her father’s pale and horrified expression. “Dad?” she pulled on his arm. “Is that-?”

“Where do you find this?” Drake growled suddenly at the other teen, advancing on him.

“It was just in here, on the floor! I was reading it when the cabinet – uh… fell.”

“Blasphemy!” Drake proclaimed, quickly skimming through other entries. “This thing is filled with entries and observations about my personal life! Here, you see? I remember when this happened, it was right here on set! A-and this! This wasn’t even on set, this was a conference call I had with the writers from my own home!” Slamming the book closed, he turned on Honker again, holding the book high above his head. “Whomever wrote this journal was intimately involved with the project! They even knew about Gosalyn, and NO ONE knew about her! This author is cunning, calculated, and observant! There is absolutely  _no way_  they  _simply_  left this just  _laying around_  for just anybody to pick up!”

“Dad,” Gosalyn tugged the duck away from where he towered over Honker, “doesn’t that language sound a little familiar to you? Like another anonymous first-person account we’ve heard recently?”

Pausing long enough to blink dumbly at her, the mallard smacked his face when he understood. “The Anonymous news exclusive,” they voiced at the same time.

“Of course,” Drake paced away from the teens, flipping through the pages, “whomever wrote this journal must be the person feeding those accounts to that far-fetching Featherly!” Suddenly, he gasped, straightening. “And this is where they are keeping them.”

Faster than the teens could react, Drake had grabbed Honker’s wrist and was shoving the book into Gosalyn’s back, moving them both for the door. “Come on kids, we’ve got to get going!”

“Dad!” Gosalyn protested, “what’s the rush? We’ve barely looked around!”

“There will be plenty of time for that later,” Drake replied, kicking open the front door and shoving Honker outside. “Go, Gosalyn!”

“I’m being rescued by Darkwing Duck!” Honker cheered.

“Dad!” Gosalyn protested when she reached the door, stomping one foot. With yelp, she was grabbed by Drake, who tossed her outside, going to follow. Something, however, made him pause on the threshold and cast a wary glance back inside. All those shadows he hadn’t noticed before were starting to look very long, and very dark. With a nervous gulp, he pressed onward, closing the door securely behind him.


	6. Neighbors, in that Special St. Canard Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Muddlefoots!

Suburban homes lined Avian Way on either side of the trio, hidden behind long driveways and tall hedges. The glimpses of the homes the two Mallards did get revealed lots of windows, double car garages, and one of them even had a fountain out front.

Gosalyn had asked what kind of place they were in as soon as they had gotten off the bus, and Honker had replied with a small sigh that it was his neighborhood. The houses were nice, he guessed, but no one talked to each other. They barely knew their neighbors, and his mom always said that the home owners’ meetings were filled with strangers. She always said it was a shame that people didn’t branch out more; neighbors should be the first line of defense and care outside of the family.

Drake and Gosalyn couldn’t relate. The few neighbors they had gotten to know in their zig-zagging path from town to town had been pleasant, kind enough folks, but people who lived on the road tended to end up surrounded by others like them, so it wasn’t expected that relationships would last very long. Gosalyn had never had the chance to get to know her neighbors, and Drake had no memories of any neighborhood friends, not from when he was a kid or an adult. Of course, when he was an adult, he was much too busy for petty things like socializing.

“Really, Honker,” Drake spoke up from the back of the group, “you didn’t have to insist we come crash at your place.”

“Actually, Mr. Darkwing sir,” the teen shrugged, “it was my mom that had insisted. I don't mean to correct you of course! It's just...”

“ _You_  were the one that called her,” Drake replied. “And it’s ‘Drake’.”

“But all I did was ask her permission to invite you, Mr. Drake, sir.  _She_  was the one that insisted you come.” Tugging at his collar, Honker shrugged and smiled nervously, sweating nervously as he corrected his idol.

“He’s got you there, Dad,” Gosalyn smirked at Drake, the taller Mallard shooting her a warning look.

Honker had barely stopped shaking since meeting Drake, and he and Gosalyn had pretended to not hear how much excited screaming he released when he called his mom about bringing some guests home for dinner. It tickled Gosalyn tremendously, so see someone so flustered and excited over meeting her dad, but Drake was  _far_  from enthused. And his temper had been building ever since they left the studio.

“My point is that we’ve got enough of our own mess back at the trailer to clean up, and we really should be seeing what, if any, of our own groceries we can salvage.”

“Dad,” Gosalyn scowled, “there isn’t a  _single_  thing we can salvage. I’m pretty sure the cops smashed the cereal boxes too.”

Drake aimed another warning look at Gosalyn when Honker turned to face them suddenly, a glowing smile on his beak. “That’s exactly why I invited you home with me!”

“Why?” The Mallards asked in unison, stopping.

His eyes filling with stars, Honker spun away from them, muttering to himself.  _“I get to play sleuth and detective with Darkwing Duck!!”_  Finished, the teen cleared his throat and pivoted back around to face the two, Drake crossing his arms with an unimpressed expression as Honker puffed up his thin chest and crossed his arms behind him. “You said your trailer had been thoroughly ransacked?”

“More like pillaged and plundered,” Gosalyn crossed her arms as well, kicking one foot out.

“Gosalyn!” Drake snapped. “Watch your attitude, little missy.”

Honker squealed to himself. “Darkwing Dad!! Ahem, You two have only been back in the city for a few days, correct? But someone  _already_  knew where you were living?”

“Adder said they got an anonymous tip,” Drake mirrored his daughter’s pose, intrigued by Honker’s logic. “Of course, half the town would like to tar and feather us by this point. The tip could have come from anyone.”

With an exasperated sigh, Honker’s shoulders slumped forward. “ _Exactly._  You’ve got people spying on your home, people breaking into the studio, people giving the news claims from that journal about the show, and the police ransacking your trailer with absolutely no reason to. The only safe place to read this,” Honker pulled the journal out of his backpack, “is a neutral location.”

“Hey – hey!” Drake snapped, covering the leather book with his hands. “Put that away! Look, so maybe someone is following us, then it’s best not to go flashing that thing around in broad daylight!”

“Wait, ‘someone’?” Gosalyn frowned at him while Honker squealed about Darkwing Duck touching his hands. “You think it’s just one person?”

“I don’t know what to think,” grumbled Drake, rubbing the bridge of his bill. “But the sooner we get out of the open air and start figuring out who wrote this blasted thing the better.”

“Exactly!” cheered, Honker, Drake frowning at him.

“Exactly why?”

“Just,” Honker slumped forward, waving for them to follow, “follow me. We’re almost home.”

“Then we eat?” asked Gosalyn, skipping after Honker.

“Then we eat,” Honker offered a shy grin. “Imagine! Darkwing Duck eating at my house!!” Honker padded ahead with a smile on his face, Gosalyn shaking her head and following him. Behind the teens, Drake scowled, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets.

“Sure are plenty of nameless perps stinking their fingers in our business,” he grumbled to himself, glancing around the group at every shadow and formless shape around them. “ _Too_ many for my liking.”

 

* * *

 

 

The Muddlefoots’ home was somehow the most inviting of all of the houses on the block. It was a soft canary yellow, had a double car garage, and a large, beautiful garden was tucked against the front porch and many clear, bright windows filled the walls. The hedges that lined the home’s property were the shortest of all their neighbors, and were neatly trimmed, surrounding a small white picket gate that blocked off the sidewalk. Honker reached around the gate, unlocking it from the inside.

“This is where you live?” Gosalyn gasped, grabbing the fence and staring at the home, her jaw slack. “Like, all the time?”

“Sure,” shrugged Honker, allowing them to enter, “don’t you normally live in your house?”

“Well I guess,” Gosalyn passed him, looking around, “if you want a ‘normal’ life.”

Behind her, Drake scowled, but reluctantly followed.

After beating them to the front door, Honker lead them inside, calling for his parents.

Gosalyn gasped again when she saw the ornate inside of the home, but Drake pinched her bill before she could express it.

“Zip it,” he warned, Gosalyn frowning at him, confused and offended.

“In here, Honker,” a twittering voice sang from the kitchen, and Honker hurried to the back of the house, Gosalyn following him excitedly. Lagging behind, Drake shoved his hands back in his jacket and trudged after them, pausing long enough to stare at the sheer size of their television screen.

They had a real, working fireplace, and Drake blinked at it. He had a fireplace in his childhood home, he remembered the scent of the ambers on his mother's feathers. Drake and -

-And his mother and father enjoyed the fires, even if St. Canard weather was never too inviting for them.

Past the fireplace, enormous television screen, and shining windows, the living room was cheery pastels, with alabaster carpets and a multicolored set of furniture, with an orange couch that faced the television and front of the house, lavender recliner, green love seat, and a red side table near a yellow coffee table. A few lamps that very much did not match the set were scattered around the various corners, and a full rack of DVDs was piled against the wall underneath a maze of framed photos of the family, most of which had clearly been taken as seflies by Honker. The family traveled a lot, it seemed, and Honker took pictures of everything. EVERYTHING, apparently, as there were several stuffed photo albums hidden around the open space.

“Hi, Mom!” smiled Honker, introducing the canary to his new friend in the next room, and Drake quickly shook himself from his observation and followed that direction. “This is Gosalyn Mallard. Gos, my mom, Binkie Muddlefoot.”

“How do you do?” Binkie smiled and stood from her seat at the kitchen table. Straightening her skirt, her suit blazer draped carefully over the back of the chair, the canary shook Gosalyn’s hand and turned to Honker.

“Pleasure to meet you, Gosalyn! Call me Binkie, please."

"Yes ma'am!" Gosalyn smiled, deciding immediately that she liked Binkie.

"Good!" Binkie twittered before frowning and turning to her son. "I thought you said Gosalyn’s father would be joining us as well.”

“Oh, yes, he certainly is!” Honker giggled and Gosalyn shook her head playfully at him.

“DAAAAAD!” she cried, yelping when Drake appeared suddenly and pinched her bill shut. “Sorry,” she blushed as he glared at her.

Drake jerked his head towards Binkie, and Gosalyn faced her, the blush underneath her golden feathers increasing.

“Sorry, Mrs. Muddlefoot.”

“Binkie is fine, my dear,” Binkie giggled. “And I certainly don’t mind a little ruckus in this house. It’s gotten much too quiet lately."

“Mom, it’s my honor to introduce  _The_  Drake Mallard,” Honker introduced proudly, sweeping his arms in a circle and presenting Drake as if he were a prize stallion. Binkie only giggled good-naturedly and offered her hand.

Binkie Muddlefoot, as Drake looked her up and down quickly, was a tall, strong canary, with soft yellow feathers, curly bangs, and a gentle, confident manner about her. Her pearl necklace dissolved into a white business blouse, with a baby-blue pencil skirt and black pumps. Her suit jacket, which matched her skirt, was draped over the back of her chair, and a full but meticulously organized messenger bag sat next to the chair. The laptop behind the woman was open to a word document, which, if Drake had to guess, looked very legal in nature. Her voice twittered, and her eyes were deep brown and sparkled, and Drake figured this woman was the reason for the home's organization, as he glanced around the kitchen.

The kitchen itself was just as put together as the canary before him. The counter tops were sparkling, and a pile of drying dishes sat next to the sink and underneath a pin board of recipes and shopping lists. A backdoor was straight ahead and parallel from the front door to the house, and a half-wall separated the sink, cupboards, and counter tops from the living room, the plush carpet dissolving into sparkling hard wood floors past the cherry blossom decorated wall. The kitchen table and floors were scattered dark and light red cherry wood, and the wallpaper on the walls was striped and covered with framed photographs of the family all cooking and dining together, which were, as expected, also mostly selfies.

The family was well traveled, well organized, and very healthy, judging by the contents in the photos and the various cooking instruments drying on the counter.

“We really don’t mean to intrude,” Drake said, not removing his hands from his pockets. “You really didn’t need to invite us over for a – visit.”

“Nonsense,” Binkie waved his worry aside, sitting back down at the table and quickly typing a few things on her laptop. “I’m working from home today anyway, and besides that, we don’t get nearly enough company these days. It’s wonderful to meet new faces!”

“How refreshing,” Drake crossed his arms, getting an elbow in his side from his daughter.

“Young lady!” he hissed quietly and the teen glared at him.

“Do you know Honker from school?” asked Binkie, welcoming them all to have a seat around the round kitchen table, shutting the laptop and stowing it in the bag before turning expectantly back to her guests. “Are you a teacher?”

“Uh,” Honker stammered, having pulled the chair out for Drake to sit in. Seeing the teasing glare Gosalyn tossed him, Honker giggled and pulled the chair out for her as well. “No, not really.”

Binkie raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”

“I met Honkman yesterday!” Gosalyn piped up, leaning her elbows on the table.

“Gosalyn!” Drake hissed from where he slumped in the chair, and the teen shrugged at him, but reluctantly sat back back off the table.

“It was just a case of being in the right place at the right time, I guess. We have a… few shared life experiences.”

“Like what?”

“Cartoons mostly,” Gosalyn smiled at Binkie. “Nerd stuff.”

“Oh,” Binkie straightened, casting a suspicious look at her son. “Do you really?”

“Thanks, Gosalyn,” he muttered at the other teen, who blinked at him in confusion.

“What I say?”

Suddenly, the back door slammed open, Drake and the teens leaping out of their seats in surprise.

“My goodness,” Binkie yelped, watching them all with worry. “It’s just your father, Honker dear. My goodness, you three are wound tighter than a ball of yarn! Oh, Herb?”

“Yes Binkums?” a voice called from outside, a large round rear end poking into the door, waggling ad wiggling around. Leaning in their seats to catch the voice, the two ducks frowned.

“Herb dear,” Binkie stood and crossed to the door, “what  _are_  you doing?”

“Veggie-tables,” Herb smiled, spinning around after pulling himself through the door, various vegetables from the overflowing basket he carried in his arms spilling over the sides. Honker immediately moved to help collect them, Gosalyn following before Drake could grab her. “You should see the garden, Binkums! We’ll have tomatoes out our ears before you know it!”

“That’s nice,” Binkie forced a smile, dodging as Herb swung the basket around, waddling over to the sink. “Herb? These are our guests for dinner? Drake and Gosalyn Mallard.”

Drake watched the very large, very round duck waddle himself and his basket across the kitchen and to the counter and sink. He wore a green and pink Hawaiian shirt, plastic sandals, which tracked dirt across the floor, and a sunhat that was entirely too small to do him any good. His voice was somewhere between someone drowning in oatmeal and a nasally cough, and something about his happily oblivious manner rubbed Drake every wrong way. He immediately didn’t trust the larger -  _much_  larger - duck, or liked him.

Finally dropping the basket on the counter, the Mallards swearing they felt the entire house shake, Herb spun around, pulling his comically small sunhat off his head and wiping his brow with a dirty garden glove. He left a streak of dirt across it. “That so? Well howdy-do, neighbors!”

Drake sank lower and lower into his chair with each step the sumo-shaped duck made in his direction, offering an unconvincing smile. “You know what, Drakey,” Herb laughed, grabbing Drake in a one-armed chokehold and picking him up off the floor. “I like you! It’s so great when neighbors decide to come on over for a visit!”

“Yeah,” Drake coughed, clawing at the meaty arm around his neck with his hands, “swell.”

“So, Honker,” after dropping Drake on the floor like a bag of potatoes, Herb turned back to his son, who was already cleaning the vegetables in the sink. “What do you think our new neighbors would like for dinner? I got lots of fresh zucchini in there!”

“Uh, I don’t know, Dad,” Honker shrugged, nodding to the Mallards, Gosalyn and Binkie helping Drake to his feet. “Why don’t you ask them? Mr. Mallard would know more than I do.”

“Sure, sure,” Herb laughed, tossing some cucumbers in the sink. “I guess –  **wait** …”

The trio froze, turning to Herb as he slowly twisted around to glare at Drake, every fiber in his flubbery body tense and tight.

“...Did you say ‘Mallard’, son?”

Honker swallowed, whimpering back a meek, “y-yes sir.”

“Your name, neighborino,” Herb smiled down at Drake all too friendly, thundering quickly to him, “wouldn’t happen to be ‘Drake’ Mallard, would it?  _Friend?”_

Drake frowned, straightening and crossing his arms. “Named after my great-grandfather, Drake Dumas Mallard, thank you.”

“Oh, that’s what I thought you said it was,” Herb smiled pleasantly. Everyone blinked at each other. Suddenly, Herb's grew redder than the tomatoes in Honker’s hands, and he curled his massive hands into fists. Tossing his head back, the duck released a monstrous bellow.

_"HONKER!!"_

“Now Herb-!” yelped Binkie, planting herself between her husband and the teen, who quickly hid behind her when Herb stomped towards him. Drake and Gosalyn swapped concerned looks, Drake holding Gosalyn back as she stepped forward to intervene. “Now don’t you go and lose your temper, dear!”

“OUT OF MY WAY, BINKIE!” Herb roared. "If I’ve told that boy once, I’ve told him a hundred times! And this – this is the last straw, young man!”

“Herb!” Binkie snapped, putting her hands on her hips. “Herb Muddlefoot, we have guests!”

“Oh, I know that, Binkums dear,” Herb waved one arm at the Mallards, “two  _Mallards_! Staying for dinner! You’ve gone too far this time, son! TOO FAR!”

“I’m sorry, Dad!” Honker cried.

“Herb, that’s enough!”

“You’re going to be grounded until you die!”

“ENOUGH!!” Gosalyn screamed, ducking past Drake and stomping over to the arguing family. “ _Mind_  telling me just  _what_  is going on here?!”

“It-it’s a long story,” Honker muttered, flinching when Herb yelled at him again.

“Oh, SHUT UP!” snapped Gosalyn, quickly planting herself between the much larger duck and the canaries. “Long story, short story, I don’t care! I thought,” she stood on her tiptoes and mashed a finger into Herb's chest, “my dad and I were  _guests_  here! Is this how you usually treat your  _guests_? Yelling at your own kid right in front of them? You think you’re the first chump in this stinking town that has treated me and Dad like common criminals? Like the name ‘Mallard’ is going to bring a disastrous plague on those sweet little tomato bushes of yours? Well guess what, ‘neighborino,’ you’re not, and you definitely aren’t going to be the last! So, pipe down, clam up, and  _try_  to act like a half-way civilized adult, because we are your  _guests_!” Stretching to her full height, Gosalyn glared right in Herb’s face. “Got it?”

Behind the two, Drake had his arms crossed, one hand messaging the bridge of his bill as Binkie and Honker walked over and stood by him.

“My, my,” Binkie muttered to Drake, who didn’t look up at her, even as her smirk shined through her tone, “is she always this outspoken?”

“Sure is,” he grumbled, dropping his hand and messaging his temples instead. “Just a couple weeks ago she gave a similar speech to Ms. Bunbottom, her science teacher from fifth grade. Give or take a few explicatives.”

“What had she done to the girl?” gasped Binkie, looking in shock between the two Mallards.

“Called Gosalyn a blonde once, I think is what she said.” Rolling up his sleeves while Binkie gasped, Drake stomped his way to the arguing duo.

“Where did you say you met these two, Honker?”

After wedging himself between Gosalyn and Herb, Drake pushed against her shoulders, Gosalyn’s sneakers squeaking on the hardwood floors as he pushed her backwards and away from the larger - and older - duck.

“Gosalyn! Enough!” he cut his hands through the air and the teen blinked up at him.

“But Daaad-! He started it!”

“And I’m finishing it! Honestly, Gos, for lecturing these people on being bad hosts, you’re not being a very good guest.”

“But Dad-!”

“Gosalyn!” Drake gave her a stern glare, and the teen slowly calmed, crossing her arms with a defeated pout. “Thank you.” Drake sighed, combed his feathers back, straightened his jacket, and spun around to face Herd. He opened his mouth to apologize, but Herb’s massive fist suddenly collided into his face, cutting off any apology he could throw together. “Ow,” Drake giggled and collapsed, unconscious before he hit the hardwood floor.

 

* * *

 

 

Drake opened his eyes a few hours later, shooting upright with a panicked, strangled cry.

“GOSALYN!”

“I’m right here, Dad!” Gosalyn barked quickly, grabbing his hand and curling it against her chest.

He was laying on the Muddlefoot’s couch and Gosalyn was sitting next to it on the floor, discarded cell phone sitting near-by.

Panting for a moment, Drake grabbed his head, staring dead ahead while his senses caught back up with him. “Gos?” he croaked down at her, the teen shifting her weight and scooting closer to the couch. His hand was still grasped in her own, the other gripping his head.

“Yeah, Dad, I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere without yah.”

A slow smile spread across his bill, and Drake relaxed, twisting around to cradle her cheek with his other hand, pressing a long kiss on the top of her head. When he opened his eyes, he glanced up at the face of a smiling Binkie Muddlefoot. Screaming, Drake shot backwards, dragging Gosalyn with him.

“Binkie!” he panted, clutching his chest and glaring down at her from where he had scrambled onto the couch arm. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to loom over an unconscious man?!”

“Oh,” Binkie straightened, one finger on the tip of her beak, “I’m afraid not. Did I startle you?”

His expression going neutral, Drake stared at her for a second. “No, I always wake up from unconsciousness kicking and screaming. Wait-!” Leaping to his feet, Drake half-dragged Gosalyn onto the couch, who called for him desperately. “Oh, sorry, Gos,” he whimpered, sitting her down gently. Once she was comfortable, he continued his pose, pointing an accusatory finger at Binkie. “Your husband sucker-punched me in the face! Right in the bill! I know it’s hard to miss, but come on! I don’t even know the big galoot!”

“I know that,” Binkie replied with desperation, pawing at her own face, “admittedly, it wasn’t Herb’s most shining moment.”

“’Admittedly’,” Drake repeated. “’Admittedly’, she says. WHAT PART OF THAT IS AN ADMISSION? It’s the truth!!”

“Dad!” Gosalyn scolded, putting her hands on her hips. “Mrs. Muddlefoot is trying to  _apologize_  to you! Would you shut up and let her?!”

Growling, Drake dropped to the couch and crossed his arms in a pout. Gosalyn leaned against it and crossed her own arms, watching Binkie expectantly. “Well? All I had to do was get him quiet. You're supposed to handle the rest. Good luck."

Binkie glared at her for a moment, eventually rolling her eyes with a large sigh. “Herb usually isn’t that… direct,” she smiled and eased closer. “And, well – oh…” collapsing backwards onto the couch suddenly, Binkie sighed at them and buried her face into her hands. “I’m afraid you’re right. I let things get too out of hand, and I’m very sorry for that. Honker invited you both back here so you could have a nice, pleasant place to spend the day and make some new friends, and my husband’s irrational hatred almost ruined that!"

“What ‘irrational hatred’?” Drake asked, his tone softened to gentle confusion. “Something to do with our name?”

Standing, Binkie motioned for them to follow. “Let me show you. It will be easier that way.”

 

* * *

 

Upstairs in the master bedroom, which was decorated in soft earth tones and had some exercise equipment in the corner, Binkie pulled a large box out from under the queen-sized bed. “All of this belongs – belonged to poor Honker.” Opening the lid, Binkie revealed the contents to the two Mallards, who leaned close to peer inside.

The box was filled with neatly stacked comic books, a lunchbox, figurines, posters, and even an alarm clock, all of which boldly and loudly bore the face of  _Darkwing Duck_.

Binkie stood and sat down, the box in her lap.

"Impressive, isn't it?" she smirked sadly, allowing the others to peer closer to the contents. "He was very proud of his collection..."

“Gee,” Drake breathed, gently lifting a comic book from the box. “This all belonged to one kid?”

“I told you he was a  _huge Darkwing_  fan,” Gosalyn muttered, pulling an old Darkwing letterman jacket from the box. “Wow! Keen gear!”

“Oh no, Mr. Mallard, it's not like that at all. My son is your  _biggest_  fan.”

Gosalyn shot her a questioning glare.

“After Gosalyn here, of course.”

Smiling, Gosalyn turned back to the jacket, holding it up against her shoulders to check the size. It was heavy and made well, and not a single stitch had been stretched or the fabric picked. On the back was the  _Darkwing_  emblem, which was the daring silhouette of her dad, fedora and all, the usual purple accessories covered in gleaming gold. On the front was a small "DWD" emblem in similar gold, and Gosalyn ran her fingers over it gently. The tag inside the collar said, "Verified Official  _Darkwing Duck_  Collector's Edition", and she sighed sadly. Such a shame to see a great jacket go to waste in a box under a bed.

Setting the box beside her, Binkie continued.

“Honker didn’t have a very friendly childhood, I’m afraid. Try as we might, he never had much confidence or many friends. I’m afraid he still doesn’t. You understand how children can be.”

“Sure,” Drake rubbed the edge of the pages between his fingers, having being absorbed in the stories he had never read. "We both do.”

“Well, when  _Darkwing Duck_  came on the air, it gave my Honker something to look forward to! No matter what he was doing, he would drop it all and watch that program as soon as it came on. Better yet, he finally began to fit in with the kids around him.” Digging out the old lunchbox from the bottom of the box, Binkie smiled down at it. “Herb and I encouraged it at first, together. We took him shopping to spend his allowance on every new piece of  _Darkwing_  merchandise that came out, and sometimes I would pitch in to help buy the ones he couldn’t. It got so ridiculous, we often joked he lived in, oh what was that place..."

"‘Darkwing Tower’?" suggested Gosalyn, and Binkie smiled.

"That's the place. We joked he lived in 'Darkwing Tower' instead of our actual house."

A small chuckle escaped Drake’s bill, and Gosalyn looked at him quickly, watching her dad carefully flip the pages of the book cradled in his hands. She had almost never seen him so careful with anything in her life. Sure, her dad was a skilled acrobatic and fighter, but he was notoriously clumsy thanks to his brain often thinking about a million things at once and forgetting he needed to watch where he was going. Plus, he was just about as danger prone as she was a magnet for trouble. But the way he held the comic book, compared to the vision of those bullies brutally gutting the books, she pulled together a little more respect for her father.

“Of course,” Binkie replaced the lunchbox, gently taking the jacket from Gosalyn and folding it, “you know what they say about ‘all good things’.”

“What happened?” asked Drake, handing her the comic.

“The show ended,” the canary shrugged. “The rest of the kids at school were told to turn their backs on the show because of the controversy around it’s ending, and everyone did. Everyone except Honker.”

“So that’s why it all just vanished,” Drake muttered to himself, tucking his hands under his arms. “I always wondered why the buzz about the show’s ending was never really there.”

“What happened to Honker?” Gosalyn asked, jumping up on the edge of the bed.

“He couldn’t let the whole thing go,” Binkie knelt, sliding the box back under the bed. “He considered the characters on that show as his only friends, you see. I tried to assure Herb that Honker would grow out of it, but I’m afraid he simply never did. He defended that show and its integrity relentlessly, he still does as a matter of fact, and I hated going behind Herb’s back, but your character lit such a fire in my son’s eyes, I couldn’t force him to cut it out completely. So, over the years, Herb has only gotten more and more resentful of the whole thing.”

The Mallards said nothing, just sat quietly, until Binkie quite suddenly stomped her foot.

“Oh! I’ll tell you, Drake and Gosalyn dear, Herb going and attacking our house guests just because of your past employment – oh! It just ruffles my feathers!”

Drake chuckled lightly, propping himself up on the edge of the bed, one hand combing Gosalyn’s bangs from her face. “Don’t worry too much about it, Mrs. Muddle – eh, Binkie.” Playfully punching the edge of Gosalyn’s bill with his knuckles, he smiled as she swatted his hands away. “I’ve been punched in the bill for much less. People just can’t seem to keep their hands off this devilishly handsome thing.”

“As awful as this sounds,” Binkie giggled, “that is a relief. And it’s not a terribly dreadful bill for a goose. I’d say you’re quite handsome for a gander, actually.”

“You aren’t a gander, are you?” Gosalyn whispered, leaning on her dad’s shoulder.

“Nope. Though Uncle Henry once suspected that Great-Grandpa Lloyd was.”

“Binkums?” Herb called from downstairs, and Drake instinctively flinched, sliding off the bed and shoving his hands in his pockets with a scowl. “Binkie dearest, dinner is almost ready! Uh, will the … guests be joining us?”

“You could always ask them yourself, dearest,” muttered the canary with an eye roll, moving to the door. “Of course you two are more than welcomed to stay if you’d like. I promise Herb will be better behaved, Drake. He's not usually like this at all, I assure you. I've never thought he'd be capable of hurting someone."

Perking up excitedly, Gosalyn jumped off the bed, facing her dad, who shifted his attention to her, unimpressed.

“Can we, Dad? Please?”

Drake groaned to himself, facing Binkie. “If you don’t mind having us, Mrs. Muddlefoot… dinner could be… fun. I can’t remember the last meal we shared with… neighbors.”

Tickled, Binkie hurries to the stairs. “Wonderful! I'll get set the places. You two take your time, please. We'll be downstairs whenever you're ready."

Drake decided that, while he'd be happen to see if Herb would float in the canal, he liked Binkie Muddlefoot.

"Honker! Set two more places at the table, please!"

They both heard the teen scream in excitement, quickly scolded by his father.

“We’ll be down in just a second,” Gosalyn smiled at Binkie, who left them alone with a smile.

“Gosalyn-?”

“DAD!” the teen snapped, spinning on her father with a scowl. “ _Don’t_  ruin this!”

Drake scoffed, pulling his hands from his pockets and crossing his arms. “I'm  _sorry_? What,  _exactly_ , am I ruining here? The chance to get clobbered in the bill again by Mr.  _Weebles-Wobbles_  down there just because he had a kid that happened to like superheroes more than gardening?”

“That’s not fair!” Gosalyn crossed her arms with a growl. “I’ll have you know that besides punching you in the face, Herb Muddlefoot is actually a very nice guy!”

“’Nice guy’?! Gosalyn my dear, I’m not sure if you realized this or not, but Herb ‘Actually a Very Nice Guy’ Muddlefoot punched me! In! The! Bill!”

“Yeah, yeah, I know! I was there, you big baby!”

Growling, Drake crossed his arms, scowling down at the teen. “You know, if I wasn’t so worried that our home, sorry, ‘trailer’ was still being watched, I’d drag you right back there, right now, and send you to bed without any supper at all, young lady! Home cooked or not!”

Gosalyn gasped, dropping her pose. “What did I do?? All I said was ‘don’t ruin this’!”

“Yes, that’s precisely what you said!”

“That’s not fair!” pleaded the teen. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Then what  _did_  you mean, Gosalyn?” Drake jabbed, waiting. “Because your attitude lately has gotten completely out of hand!”

Recrossing her arms, Gosalyn huffed and turned away, bill wrinkled in concentration and frustration. After a moment of silence, she spoke up quietly. “Honker is a fan of  _Darkwing Duck_. He’s, you know, like – he’s obsessed with it. You heard those questions he was asking you about it. And he’s – you know, smart. With the whole ‘coming here so we would be safe’ thing.”

“I know that,” Drake leaned on the edge of the bed, his arms still crossed. “So what?”

“He was in that office, dressing room, whatever it was, poking around, probably trying to find something to… like…” Gosalyn rubbed a hand through her strawberry colored hair, her other arm tightly wrapped around herself. “…Defend the show, okay?”

“Maybe he was, maybe he wasn't,” Drake shrugged.

“I bet anything he was. And plus, uh, he was the one that found the journal! And he – well Binkie said it herself! Honker could use a friend! They… they all could, Dad.”

Stunned, Drake gently scowled at himself, adverting his eyes from his daughter. Gosalyn took a small step closer to him.

“The way those bullies were picking on him yesterday… what his mom said… I don’t think Honker has any friends in the world, not real ones. And the Muddlefoots are nice enough Dad, even you can see that!”

With a gentle sigh, Drake uncrossed his arms and gripped on the edge of the bed. “What are you trying to say, Gosalyn? What are you asking?”

The teen looked at the carpet under her shoes quickly, rubbing one toe into it. “They keep calling us ‘neighbors’, like they want to – want to be our friends. And we’ve never had that. No one else has ever thrown us a ‘Moving In’ dinner. And – and – I want to stay. Can’t we make friends, Dad? Please?”

Blinking slowly, Drake let his eyes fall, his fingers pinching at the plastic of his jacket in thought. “You really want to stay, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do! I want to make friends. Besides, Honker might be able to help us! He’s smart, and has already been defending the show for a long time. He’s the biggest nerd we’ve got.” Her bill wrinkled in slight disgust. “Bigger than me, even. Maybe.”

With a sigh, his shoulders deflating, Drake stared at her and Gosalyn offered him a bashful grin. “Alright,” he shrugged finally, “I’ll try to play nice. But-!” he grabbed the teen’s arm before she could run out the door, “you have to promise me that we won’t drag the Muddlefoots into anything until after all of this passes.”

“But Dad-!”

“Gosalyn, I’m serious! What Oxford said, finding that journal… I’ve got a very bad feeling that this isn’t close to being over, and we don’t need to drag nice people like the Muddlefoots into it! Not anymore than they already are, which is too much. Are we clear? We’ll make friends with them, Gosalyn,” he took her shoulders in his hands, “you were right about that. But we need to push it off until it’s safe, okay? For them.”

“Okay,” Gosalyn squirmed, a small smile stretching across her bill. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Drake shook her hand, the teen dashing to the door.

“Here we come!” she announced, and Drake shook his head, following.

At the base of the stairs, hearing Herb call his name, Drake tensed, shoving his hands back in his pockets. Noticing his own habit, he growled at himself. He pulled them back out and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows idly, just as something for them to do. Having taken a steadying breath, Drake forced himself around the corner and took his seat at the crowded dinner. When his eyes hit the sheer volume of food that stretched out before them, however, and after Binkie insisted that they both eat their fill, it was much easier to forgive. Forgetting, he shook his hands out to try to loosen them up, clenching and unclenching them a few times to make sure, however, would have to come later. Much later.


	7. St. Canard Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake and Gosalyn spend a tense evening with the Muddlefoots, and afterwards, things escalate very quickly. (TW for slight blood.)

At first, dinner was quiet, the two Mallards much too hungry to engage in proper conversation. But eventually, her chatty nature got the better of her, and Gosalyn piped up, turning the attention to Honker and his fascinating life. Of course, the other teen would never in a hundred years consider his life fascinating, but Gosalyn had never had much of a daily routine, not since Drake adopted her, and it was an alien concept to her.

As proud as he was of his socialite daughter, heck if he knew where she got it, Drake couldn’t help but notice how the mammoth sized duck at the other end of the table kept careful note of everything Gosalyn said. How interesting to him that Gosalyn hadn’t attended a proper school since turning ten, once slept under a bridge (with her father wrapped protectively and fully awake around her) because they couldn’t afford to get their trailer out of the city impound, and had even had to sneak in and out of a motel room for several days on end when she was thirteen because Gosalyn had gotten the flu and Drake was forced to choose between paying for medicine or providing his baby girl with a warm bed. Herb, Drake feared, was cataloging those events away for later, completely leaving out how desperate and terrified Drake had been in each of those moments of failing or losing her daughter, ravaged by the truth that there was no one else to blame for their troubles than himself and his unsatisfied ego.

Not that he was overly eager for Gosalyn to be sharing those stories, but Honker and Binkie were intensely interested, and sympathetic, by them. And Binkie had said that it wasn't necessary for Gosalyn to humor their curiosity, but Gosalyn had insisted. She loved talking about the hero that her father was, or the scraps and downs they had fought their way out of.

Thankfully, Gosalyn didn't know all sides of those stories, and Drake was sure he had a few details he'd carry to the grave with him. Gosalyn didn't need to know just how far he had gone to provide and protect her in the past...

However, Drake wasn’t the only observant Mallard in the room. Over their five years as a family, Gosalyn had learned to read her father like a book, a skill he feared and envied at times, and she noticed right away when his silent attention turned to Herb, one eye constantly watching him in the corner. So, eager to make the first dinner among the new friends a good one, she made a point of including her dad in the stories. Sometimes, she would ask him about small details Drake knew she remembered vividly. Other times, she would beg him to recreate a face or goofy catchphrase from some of their more light-hearted stories, which always had the whole audience laughing. And whether Drake got the hints she was not so subtly dropping him or not, he eventually livened up, joining in the story telling. Once she got her dad going, Gosalyn could sit back with a satisfied smile, letting her masterful story-teller of a father take the show away.

They had just finished telling the story of how they got kicked out of Brockton City, when Honker broke the mood.

“Oo- oo! That reminds me of that one episode of  _Darkwing_ , remember? When you and Megavolt accidentally switched bodies, but it was Morgana's fault, and the two of you had to - to-!"

“Yep, yep, yep,” Drake interrupted, a nervous giggle escaping him, “I remember that one, kid. It was hard to forget. You would not  _believe_  how long it took us to get Elmo to do all those classic Darkwing stunts. That rodent hated heights more than cats hate water.”

“What?” Honker gasped. “Really? But he was always stealing light bulbs out of streetlamps and out of shop windows and stuff!”

Drake shrugged casually. “Would you believe ‘movie magic’?”

“Wow,” the teen sighed, sitting back in his chair and giving his mind a moment to digest the new information.

“Did you spend a lot of time at the studio, Gosalyn?” Binkie asked, handing the redhead the bread basket.

“No ma’am, Dad never let me go to work with him." Having taken a roll, Gosalyn stuffed it in her mouth, talking around it as she finished her answer. "Actually, I barely knew he was Darkwing Duck for practically... forever.”

“I tried my best to keep the two lives separate,” Drake added in. “Drake Mallard adopted Gosalyn,  _not_  Darkwing Duck, and I didn’t want a ten-year-old to get caught up in the hurricane of it all.”

“Dad!” Gosalyn teased, playfully bumping him with her elbow.

“Sorry, nine-year-old. But barely.”

“That’s quite the responsibility,” Herb spoke up for the first time all dinner, and Drake’s shoulders tensed before he could stop himself. “Managing a job as time consuming and demanding on you as that cartoon,  _and_  single-handedly raising a daughter? You must have worked yourself to the bone doing both at once. I don’t see how you possibly could of! It just seems like so much!”

“It wasn’t always easy,” Drake replied tightly, “but I think we managed.”

“I can certainly see that,” chuckled Herb. “A girl with that much spunk and energy must have had no issues with keeping herself entertained and occupied all day and night while you were at work. Not to mention traversing back and forth all across the map.”

While Binkie glared at her husband, Gosalyn glanced at her dad, who was memorizing the contents of his plate with a deep scowl. “Of course,” he spoke up suddenly, straightening and meeting Herb’s eyes, “Herb does have a point. As you can clearly see,” Drake shrugged with a half chuckle, letting the whole situation roll of his shoulders with elegant ease, or practiced acting, “we’ve never had much of a structed life between the two of us,  _but_  I think it’s fortunate for us that we haven’t. After all the stress of the show and its collapse, and Gosalyn’s spunk and spirit, we probably would have suffocated in a comfy place like this. Don’t get me wrong,” he waved his hands before himself quickly, gesturing kindly to Honker and his mother, “this home  _is_  lovely, and for people like you it seems to have grown and nurtured a happy, healthy family, but Gos and I just aren’t cut from the same cloth."

Gosalyn gently shoved her dad with her shoulder, smiling at him with all the thanks and pride she could. Relieved he made her proud, Drake planted a kiss on her strawberry colored hair, causing the teen to giggle and try to squirm out from under him. Finally letting her go with a loud  _smack_  of his lips, Drake turned back to his food, peaking over at Herb, who was scowling at himself.

 

* * *

 

 

After dinner, Drake and the two adult Muddlefoots were gathered near the front door, Drake calling up the stairs for Gosalyn.

“Gosalyn! It’s high time we headed home!”

“But Daaaaaad,” the teen whined, her and Honker poking their heads out of the canary’s room, “the trailer still looks like it had been used as a maraca by Hurricane Harry, remember?”

“Which is exactly why we need to be getting back,” Drake called back, putting his hands on his hips. “That mess isn’t going to clean itself up.”

“What happened to your trailer?” asked Binkie, the Mallard slipping his hands into his pockets with a small shrug.

“Just got a small rodent infestation. It’s worked itself out by now,  _we just need to clean up the mess left behind!”_

“Okay, okay,” Gosalyn muttered, trudging down the stairs, “I heard you the first time.”

“Oh, I’d hate to send you both all the way across town at this time of night! At least let Herb drive you!”

“NO!” Drake choked, catching himself with a small cough, chuckling up at the couple. “No, no, that won’t be necessary. I already called for a taxi. We’ll be just fine, thank you anyway. After all,” he continued, Gosalyn bouncing next to him, “we’ve already been more than hospitable, and we’d hate to put you out anymore.”

“All though a sleep over would be pretty keen!”

Drake aimed a sharp glare at Gosalyn, who shrugged.

“What?! At least until the trailer is right-side-up.”

“That would be splendid if you and Honker could see each other more,” Binkie smiled, clasping her hands together. “Wouldn’t it, Herb dear?”

Grunting as his wife jammed her thin elbow into his side, Herb crossed his arms. “Oh yeah, sure, sure.”

With a flip of Gosalyn’s ponytail, Drake grinned down at her. “Maybe another time, Gosalyn,  _like we discussed_. But we’ve got a lot of  _work_  to do  _before things get any busier_.”

“Oh yeah,” the teen blushed, tightening her ponytail with a two-handed yank. “Some other time then, Honk-man.”

“I hope so,” smiled the canary, handing Gosalyn the journal they had taken from the studio. “But don’t forget this.”

“Just what is that?” Herb asked, stepping forward and peering over Honker's shoulders to the book Gosalyn clutched. She backed up quickly, hiding the book behind her back and shoving it into her dad’s hands.

“Nothing! It’s, uh, for school?”

“School?” Honker’s parents repeated, Gosalyn stammering in place.

"Uh- yeah! It's for - uh - we use it-"

“Relax Herb,” Drake scooped the book out of Gosalyn’s hands and held is at his eye level, inspecting it like he’d never seen it before. “It’s probably just more of that  _War of Warducks_  stuff. You know kids these days and their new-fangled vidja games. Be careful with this, Gosalyn,” he handed to book back to her, “it doesn’t belong to you.”

“Sure thing, Dad!” Pulling the front door open, Gosalyn tossed a quick farewell to the family and raced down the lawn and for the taxi parked on the curb.

"Gosalyn!" Drake barked. "Get off their lawn!"

"It's, it's no problem," Binkie giggled. "Let the girl run."

“And about that book,” Herb crossed his arms again. “If you’re sure it's  _just War of Warducks_  stuff, Drakey.”

“Hey,” the Mallard shrugged, one hand on the door knob, “I’m just an irresponsible, neglective, workaholic Dad who has an out of control and crude daughter. What do I know?”

Standing by the taxi, Gosalyn waved to the family. “Good night Mr. and Mrs. Muddlefoot! Good night, Honker! Thanks for dinner!”

“Good night, Gosalyn,” the family chorused, Binkie telling her to come back any time.

“And text me if you find – uh, enjoy the book,” Honker called, the redhead promising that she would.

“Yes, thank you both for dinner,” Drake repeated, offering his hand and shaking Binkie’s after stepping onto the porch. “We really must do this again sometime, Binkie.”

The canary giggled, waving Drake off, who winked at her.

“Honker! We’ll see each other around, yeah?”

“We sure will,” the teen smiled, staring starry eyed at Drake and fist bumping him. “It was such an honor to meet you!”

“Dad! The trailer isn’t going to clean itself,” Gosalyn called from the other side of the taxi, Drake laughing at her.

“When that girl moves she races,” he shook his head. “You three have a –”

Suddenly, Gosalyn screamed, and Drake spun around around in time to see the taxi driver, a large beagle the size of Herb, wrap his big meaty arms around her shoulders.

“GET OFFA ME!!  _DADDY_!!” she screamed, finally throwing the arms from around her and to her hands and knees on the asphault. "GET AWAY FROM ME!!"

Suddenly, her father appeared, leaping over the roof of the small taxi and over the driver's head, kicking it backwards against the hood of the car. The large beagle slumped against the taxi, holding his head as the world spun and Drake landed next to him. Through his blurry vision, however, he spied the journal that Gosalyn had dropped, laying between them, and snatched it while Drake pulled the teen to her feet and shoved her towards the house.

“Dad – the journal!” the teen protested, and Drake stopped, ducking as the beagle swung the book at his head. Springing up, Drake kneed him in the nose, landing on one foot and panting another powerful kick to the dog’s middle, who tumbled against the open driver door.

“Gosalyn, get out of here!” Drake demanded, Gosalyn pointing at the journal.

“But he’s still got the – DAD, LOOK OUT!!”

The warning was too late, however, as the crowbar the driver had pulled out of the taxi split Drake across his temple with a harsh blow. One more blow hit him in the bill, and Drake tumbled to the ground, Gosalyn rushing at him with a panicked cry.

With a kick, the driver moved Drake from underneath the car, and threw the book inside, laughing at the ducks. “See you around,  _Dweebwing_ ,” he waved, slamming the door after him. Drake and Gosalyn covered each other as the screeching tires kicked pebbles and dirt onto them and covered them in a cloud of exhaust. Coughing, the ducks waved the cloud away, Gosalyn leaping to her feet as the taxi vanished.

“That no good son-of-a-!”

“Gosalyn!” Honker cried, him and his family charging the ducks, Binkie already on her phone.

“Yes Officer,” she spoke into it, reciting the taxi’s license plate number, which fell off as the clunky car sputtered down the street and backfired at them a few times. The family hit the road at the sound, Drake diving over Gosalyn. Once the car was out of sight, the group slowly stood, Binkie holding her cell phone against her ear once more. "Our address is -"

"W-wait-!" Drake stopped her, reaching one shaking hand her direction. With a couple of hoarse coughs, gulping the air back into his stunned lungs, Drake climbed to his hands and knees, gripping the open wound on his head with one hand.

“Dad!” squawked Gosalyn, quickly pulling Drake’s arm around her shoulder and pulling him up. He was righted with a hiss, wiping the blood from the crack in his bill with his sleeve.

“Don’t tell them anything,” Drake hissed again at Binkie, who yelped as Drake snatched the phone, reported the whole incident as a practical joke, and ended the call.

“Whatever did you do that for?!” she stammered. “That taxi driver just tried to kidnap Gosalyn! And attacked you!”

“Actually,” Honker spoke up, “I think he was going after the journal.”

“What d’you mean, Honk?” frowned Gosalyn, all eyes turning on the other teen. He held up his phone to show them his video of the whole incident. It showed most everything, the audience cringing at the sound of Drake’s skull being split open by the crowbar.

“See? As soon as he got that journal, he left. I don’t think he was going after Gosalyn at all.”

“Wait a minute,” Herb cried, “what ‘journal’? You mean that silly book? Honker!”

Gulping, the teen looked to the Mallards for help, who stared back with worry.

“Oh honestly, Herb,” Binkie scolded, stepping forward and trying to pull Drake’s hand away from the wound on his head, the duck hissing at her. “As if that matters right now! What matters is that these two are alright! Oh, Drake Mallard, let me see that wound!”

“Not on your life, sister!” Drake snapped, yanking himself away from her. “Whoever wanted that journal had no issues bloodying me and Gosalyn to get to it! And now they know where the rest of you live! The sooner we get away from you and take all this mess back to the trailer the quicker you will all be out of harm’s way.”

“Dad’s right,” Gosalyn added, readjusting Drake’s arm around her shoulders. Then, she added more quietly, "we should have never come here in the first place."

“Oh, I have had it!” Stomping, Binkie put her hands on her hips and glared back and forth between the two ducks. “Mysterious journals, fights, taxi drivers attacking the both of you! Not letting me call the police! What is going on?!”

Drake and Gosalyn exchanged a worried look, Drake looking over their shoulders at the direction the taxi had left. “I bet that journal could have answered all of that.”

 

* * *

 

 

A cat screeched and darted from under the front steps of the Mallard’s trailer, which Gosalyn stumbled onto, pulling her dad after her.

The trailer park was dark and silent, the only light coming from the few street lamps that were scattered around the park, the ones that had blown out long ago making circles of shadow in the loose blanket of yellow. Everyone was already tucked safely in for the night, but Gosalyn didn’t even spare a thought towards trying not to disturb them. Sure, she had seen the complaints that had been stapled to their door by the park’s managers over all the commotion the small family had caused, even in the two days they’d lived there, but right now, she was more worried about getting her mostly unconscious dad into his own bed before anyone else could take a swing at them.

“Come on, Dad,” she growled, turning her dad’s pockets inside out to find the keys, “stay with me!”

Finally, the door was opened, and Gosalyn gave it one powerful kick, sending the trash all over the floor that might have blocked their entrance flying. “I’ll clean that up later,” she grumbled, pulling Drake up the stairs. Passing the threshold, they both collapsed with heavy pants, sweat on both of their brows. With a gentle shove, the teen untangled herself from her dad, ingoring how he groaned lightly, and stepped over him, nearly tripping on some random junk, and flipped the lights on. Drake groaned as the light stabbed his eyes, and began to rub them as he swayed his way to his feet.

“No,” he slurred, leaning against the wall, “battered, but-na – ne’er defeated…!”

“’No’ is right,” Gosalyn snapped, wrestling her dad away from the door before he could tumble out. He landed with a heap on the floor and a clipped grunt, Gosalyn pulling him into her lap. “You’re going straight to bed, Mister,” she commanded, trying to meet his glazed and wondering eyes. “You’re worse than you were after that car accident in San Marillo!”

“Gos-!” With a groan, Drake pushed her away and climbed his way up the kitchen drawers to the counter, tossing various items to the floor as he grabbed them. “I have to – need to keep you safe!”

Tearing the kitchen towel he had tossed over her face off, Gosalyn stared up at him, pleading with her concussed father. “What do you think you’ve been doing my whole life?!”

Drake blinked a few times, staring at her with confused, heartbroken tears in his eyes. His face fell and he pawed in her direction, slumped against the counter and unable to pull himself back up. Gosalyn hurried to him and took his hand, guiding him down to the floor. Drake melted against the drawers, exhausted and weary and too dizzy to continue to fight.

“What – what’re you talking about?” he whimpered, Gosalyn scooting closer and wrapping her other hand around his own. She massaged away the dried blood that covered them.

“What do you think Honker and I were doing all that time in Honker’s room while you were unconscious and after dinner? Playing chutes and ladders?”

Drake blinked up at her, his expression unchanging.

“We were reading the journal,” she explained softly, wiping the dried blood from the crack in the corner of his bill with the kitchen towel. “We were trying to figure out who’s been coming after us.”

“Wait,” he pawed the towel away, squirming around so he faced her more openly, “you – you read all of it?”

“Yeah, we did, silly,” the teen offered soft smile. “Well, skimmed it. There’s a lot there. But we got the general idea: everything about me, your work on the show… everything that reporter has been saying over the air… it was all in there.”

Drake had watched the evening news with the Muddlefoots after dinner while Gosalyn and Honker where in the teen’s room. Like she had every evening so far since their return to St. Canard, Portia Featherly had released even more accounts of his deplorable treatment of everyone working on  _Darkwing Duck_. Tonight, it had been the story of how he had fired every villain on the show except the iconic Fearsome Four on the spot and denied their contracts, because, according to the claim, he had felt that too many villains, or other actors in general, would clog up his spotlight. Binkie hadn’t judged him, and had moved quickly to change the channel, but Drake had asked her not to. He wanted to watch the whole story through.

Afterwards, Binkie had insisted, quite bluntly actually, that she didn’t care what that silly old Featherly had said. As far as she was concerned, Drake had been a perfect gentleman, respectable guest, and commendable father. Herb hadn’t so quickly agreed with her, but had offered a half attempt to do so when he was threatened with sleeping in the hypothetical doghouse. It had made Drake chuckle, especially since the Muddlefoots didn’t own a dog.

A shadow darkened the older Mallard's face, and he ground his teeth together, forcing himself to his shaking feet.

“Dad! Dad, would you sit down?! You’re going to fall and really crack your skull open! Even more!”

“No, I won’t!” Drake argued, glancing over his shoulder at the door.

“No,” Gosalyn warned, seeing his train of thought. “Don’t even – DAD!” With a scream, Gosalyn caught Drake around his middle before he could fully collapse to the tile, his eyes rolling back. “Dad! Are you okay?”

A small, wheezing sigh, and Drake pushed himself to his hands and knees, reaching blindly for the teen, who grabbed him and laid across the floor with him.

“Gosalyn… I – I think I better lay down for a bit.”

“Gee, wish I would have thought of that,” grumbled the redhead. She laid half over him on the floor for a moment, letting him recollect his strength. When he didn’t move himself up, however, she prompted him, and carefully eased the slightly taller duck up onto his feet, sure to support most of his weight on her shoulders. He tried to muffle his hisses of pain every time he moved, and she felt him tense and sway with every step, but the teen tried her best to ignore them. Darn her father and his ego.

As they made their way to the front of the trailer, which had never seemed to long before, Gosalyn did her best to kick a path for them to their bunk beds. The two shimmied down the thin hallway, and the teen dumped Drake on the bottom mattress. Finally on a familiar surface, he rolled around and scooted painfully and stiffly back against the wall, opening his arms for Gosalyn to cuddle close, which she readily did.

They sat there for several long moments, Drake keeping the towel pressed against the wound in his head, which was beginning to sting. Some deep instinct somewhere told him he should clean it out, but he just wanted to hold Gosalyn close and lay there, still and pained. The throbbing in his head matched his heart, and he could feel Gosalyn’s against his side. Together, slowly, steadily, they both synced up in rhythm and eased to a more relaxed, albeit still tense, speed.

Drake spoke up eventually, his voice stronger than he predicted.

“Do you hate me, Gos?”

Stunned, Gosalyn sat back, staring down at her father in confusion and worry. His own eyes still shining with tears, Drake blinked and glanced helplessly up at her as she watched his every pained twitch and tremble closely, actively searching his face for the meaning behind his absurd question. She had never before realized how old her father really was.

“No, Dad, I don’t hate you. I could  _never_  hate you."

“Then you clearly didn’t  _read_  the journal,” Drake muttered back, shifting with a small wince.

“I read it all, Dad,” the teen argued gently, helping him lay down and pull his sweat-drenched and blood covered windbreaker off. “Cover to cover…” Once Drake was tucked in, Gosalyn knelt by the bunk, dabbing at the dirt, blood, and tears that stuck to his face with the towel. “We’ve all got dark sides, Dad, and sometimes it gets the better of us. But you’ve got a lot of light inside you, more than most anyone else. That’s why you went to Mr. McDuck begging for a loan to make a TV show about a superhero in the first place.”

Drake gave a small chuckle, reaching towards her with one hand and touching her bangs with his fingertips. With a smile, she brushed them away for him and took his hand in her own. “You always could see right through me.”

“Still can,” she smiled, pulling the blankets over him. “And all I see is light. And when you glow that brightly, it’s everyone else who looks empty.”

“That’s a nice thing to say,” he grinned, eyes beginning to slide shut.

“Where do you think I got it,” she smiled, gently wrapping her arms around him and leaning her head on his shoulder. “…I love you, Dad.”


	8. Quiet St. Canard Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake finally reveals the truth to Gosalyn, and another key piece of the puzzle is revealed!
> 
> (TW for naming "suicide".)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SUPER long chapter today, guys! One of the longest. At this point, things really start to pick up in the story and the mystery starts to unfold.
> 
> Also, I need to extend a HUGE thanks to everyone who has been leaving wonderful comments and kudos on this silly little fic! I've been working tirelessly on the sequel, this is looking like it will be a 4 book series, and it's starting to come together. I have no idea when I'll actually be able to write and publish the sequel, so I won't promise anything, but I'm really excited about it. Another mystery awaits us!
> 
> I'm thinking of doing something fun if "Studio" hits a milestone, like 10 bookmarks or five more comments or something (we currently have 26, half of which are mine) but I can't decide what that'll be. An early release for the next chapter? A "teaser trailer" for the next installment? I don't know man, but I like surprising people like that. We shall see!
> 
> Extra special shout-out to @As_Clear_As_Crystal and @RebellingStagnation for the constant comments and feedback! I hope I can continue to please you as the story reaches its climax.
> 
> With lots of love,  
> \- Becca

The rest of the night was not easy. With a groan, Drake continued to toss and turn in his covers, kicking and wrapping himself in a tight ball before lashing out and rolling over, repeating the pattern.

He heard Gosalyn screaming. It was all around him, echoing inside his head and reverberating in his bones. He spun around, trying to find his daughter, his baby girl, but the air was like tar, sticking to him and slowing him down. He was drowning in it, unable to scream or breath or find Gosalyn, who screamed again, this time from just inches over his shoulder. He pulled and wrestled with the tar, trying desperately to turn and reach her, but she was gone, just a wailing ghost remaining. Then, another voice shook the ground, sending shivers and tremors up the tar that was slowly swallowing his limbs. This voice was deep, and it was laughing at him, a cackling, evil, uproarious sound, and it grated against Drake’s ears and nerves.

_COME ON, DARKWING!_

The laughter mocked him, and Drake tried desperately to shout back, call for Gosalyn, even plead for mercy, but his voice was empty, his throat unresponsive.

_COME ON AND SAVE YOUR BABY GIRL, DWEEBWING! COME ON! BE A HERO, DWEEBWING! SAVE HER! BE A HERO!!_

“GAAAAAAAH!” Drake screamed, finally vaulting upwards, banging his forehead into the top bunk. He grabbed it with a loud groan, the pain pulsing through his head and nerves like a siren. After a few moments, it dulled enough for his senses to return and the echoes of the dream began to fade. He laid there, breathing deeply, still curled up tightly in pain and fear and exhaustion.

“GOSALYN!” he cried when he heard her scream, throwing the curtain aside and tumbling out of bed and onto the floor. Thrashing around, he managed to right himself, standing and stumbling out of the hallway and into the main area, where he spied Gosalyn at the table at the far end, slumped across her textbooks. She was… snoring. Not only that, he realized after a few blinks, rubbing his still pulsating head, but the entire trailer was clean. Spotless even. Every discarded item had been put back in its place, every drawer straightened, and even his stack of books sat by the door, one on top of the other. They were even alphabetized, his foggy brain told him. Not perfectly, but generally.

One hand steadying him on the kitchen counter, he tiptoed to Gosalyn, slipping the math papers out from under her. Squinting so his eyes would focus, he skimmed the problem, realizing with a large smile that she had finally solved it. After laying it back on the table, he kissed her head as gently as he could, whispering his congratulations.

Drake turned away from the teen, his eyes and senses finally adjusting to the gently illuminated trailer. The sun was beginning to warm the sky overhead, and he could feel the traces of night on his exposed skin. His body was stiff and ached all over, and he stretched to try to work out some of the knots, his back cracking in appreciation. His wrinkled tee shirt probably matched his disheveled feathers, and he desperately needed to brush his teeth. A shower wouldn’t hurt either, since he still smelled like sweat and blood and sleep. But in the meantime, he needed something for his head, so he made coffee as quietly as he could, thankful that some of that had somehow survived the ransack, and swallowed a few aspirins. He was careful to take the generic kind, knowing Gosalyn’s allergies restricted her to over-the-counter pain killers, and sometimes getting those was a bigger pain than the ones they helped sooth. When the coffee was finally finished, he slipped out the front door and curled up on the steps, an old hoodie zipped around him. Placing the mug safely nearby, he leaned his bill in his hands, letting out a deep, weary sigh.

For several moments he sat there, curled up tightly, just letting the still rising sun warm his thin hoodie and exposed feet, and the gentle sounds of mid-morning surround him like soft ambiance. Of all the places he and Gosalyn had lived, his favorites had always been the ones with moving water nearby. Blaming it on the Audubon Bay, and how accustomed he had become to hearing the water from every inch of the city his whole life, the sounds of waves and streams always helped him relax deep down to his core, as if the water was helping to lift away all the tension and guilt he carried around on his shoulders, even if just for a few moments. And now, for just a sacred minute, it helped him clear his head and forget that his family and trailer and life was being watched, and the reality that his most personal details would pretty soon be exposed for the whole world to see.

How ironic that a duck who kept himself so closed off that he wasn’t even sure if his own daughter knew his middle name, would soon have his intimate and shameful life ripped wide open in front of the city he loved so much.

Eventually, the door squeaked open, and Drake turned as Gosalyn yawned on the front step, her dad’s jacket around her shoulders instead of her signature letterman. It still smelled like exhaust and blood, even more than he did, despite her efforts to scrub away as many of the stains as she could, but Gosalyn would be the type to cling onto the lingering scent of her dad and ignore the rest. She was so forgiving. Heck if he knew where she got it.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Drake said softly, moving his mug so Gosalyn could drop onto the step next to him, cuddling against his side.

“You didn’t,” she stretched her arms out in front of her with a yawn, “it was my super-daughter senses.”

She was so warm against him, and her feathers were still ruffled and wrinkled from the nap he wasn’t sure she had fully risen out of yet. He tried not to think about how much sleep she had gotten that night, but considering how early it was and how late they probably got home, he bet that is probably wasn’t much. He stared down at her. Gosalyn was the rock in his storm of self-doubt, insecurities, and deep-seeded anger. For being so emotionally dumb, he was more than not the turbulent one of their relationship, and she was always there, patient and steadfast in the middle of it all.

He wasn’t sure how he would have survived the last five years without her. In fact, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t have. Suicide was a running trend in his family.

“Gosalyn, I….” “Dad…”

Having accidentally cut each other off, the Mallards giggled. Drake told the teen to go first.

“Okay….” Gosalyn sat up and scooted away from her father, wrinkling her bill in thought. Drake dropped his elbows back to his knees and sipped his coffee as he waited.

“How much of the journal was real?”

With a sigh, Drake and sat the mug back down, putting his bill on one hand and watching his daughter. “That depends on what it said. Do you want me to corroborate with it, or do you want to hear my side?”

“Your side,” Gosalyn scooted back over, leaning her head on Drake’s shoulder. “I don’t want to hear it from some nameless bum that keeps trying to ruin our lives.”

“So you’d rather hear it from some  _named_  bum that keeps trying to ruin our lives?”

“Dad,” the teen warned heartlessly, and Drake chuckled. He picked up his mug before beginning his story, rolling it back and forth between his palms.

“It all started not long after the show did. I was a young start-up, who had, not  _only_  gotten a crew and writers and producers all to play along with this crazy, nonsensical idea of mine, and was one of the only ducks ever to get a loan from the ever-elusive Scrooge McDuck to pay for it all, but I was a hero, the hero I always thought I was meant to be. The fans began to multiply like crazy almost as soon as the show hit the air, and the fame soon followed. The world had never seen a show like  _Darkwing Duck_  before, and none of us were prepared for the sheer volume of a response it would generate. I could hardly step outside without being recognized, without fans and kids flocking to me, asking me for an autograph, begging me for a picture. It – it was nice. It was everything I ever wanted, everything I thought I was destined for. My life went from being a mundane nobody to being a rockstar! But not just that, I was a superhero, an idol, an image of bravery, an inspiration to kids and young start-ups like myself everywhere. And, well, it didn’t take long for it to all go to my head.”

Shifting his weight, Drake took another long drink, setting the nearly empty mug aside. “As the show’s astronomical popularity and my own status grew, the lines between Drake Mallard and Darkwing Duck altogether vanished. By season 2, the crew had become my lackeys, the other actors all stooges, and the main villains… in my mind, just as I was a real hero, they were real villains. The more arrogant I got, the more nasty and vulgar I got. The more nasty and vulgar I got, the less anyone wanted to work with me, so the writers focused more on the villains, giving them more screen-time and deviating from my original concepts of them to give them each gripping, more heartbreaking origin stories, and the fans loved it. They thought  _Darkwing_  was taking a deeper, darker turn. The more the fans loved the villains, well, the dimmer my spotlight seemed, and that was the biggest threat of all. That was Darkwing’s kryptonite. So… I had to compensate.”

“That’s when you started bullying everyone,” Gosalyn suggested, wrapping her arms around her knees and watching her dad.

“I wish it had stopped at that. All the arrogance and pride that Darkwing Duck had on set, Drake Mallard had off set, only without a team of writers to hold it back. Eventually, after a year of this, everyone had had enough. Come season 3 and I started getting hate mail with the fan mail, which eventually turned into threats. Then they begin popping up all over the place; my office, on set, my changing room, in my scripts, everywhere. … Even at home.”

“What?” gasped the teen, sitting up quickly. “I never saw any threatening letters!”

“Why do you think I worked  _so hard_  to keep the two lives separated? After you came into my life, Gosalyn, I knew things had to change.  _I_  had to change. I could handle threats to myself, I was Darkwing Duck! But you gave me something to live for, and I didn’t want to live as the father that let my own ego and resulting disaster touch his baby girl.”

“Did it ever?”

Silently, Drake stood, heading inside. With a frown, Gosalyn stood and followed, finding him near the bunks, fishing for something underneath his mattress. Sitting back, he presented the wrinkled envelope he had dug out to her.

“This, this letter right here. This was the final straw.”

Taking the letter, Gosalyn sat on the floor next to Drake, who shifted to make more room for her, quietly reading the letter to herself. When she was finished, she stared up at her Dad, fear and anger swirling in her green eyes.

“After finding this in the mail slot,” he took the letter back and stared at it, “I packed us both up and we skipped town that night, leaving it all behind, the show, the fame, the others, McDuck’s banks, the fans... we’ve been running ever since.  _I’ve_  been running ever since.”

“That’s why,” Gosalyn slowly nodded, drawing her knees up and wrapping her arms around them, “we were moving around all the time. That’s why you got jobs under fake names, and never let me talk about the show, or about St. Canard.”

“The only mercy we had in the whole world,” Drake dug back under the mattress, “was this.” From it, he pulled a richly purple mask, handing it to Gosalyn. “That infernal strip of material was the only way we escaped Darkwing.”

After a long moment of silence, letting Gosalyn feel the fabric in her fingers and re-read the letter a few times, Drake stood, stepping over her and heading for the coffee maker. Gosalyn continued to read quietly, a quick frown wrinkling her features. “Hey, Dad?” she called, standing and padding across the trailer to him. “Look at that signature. See that?”

Drake took the letter and read the lines she had pointed to.

“’We’ll meet again, Dweebwing’,” she quoted, crossing her arms and shifting her weight. “Sound familiar?”

“The taxi driver from last night said the same thing,” Drake replied, a frown bending his features. “I  _knew_  I had heard that before from somewhere!”

“Not to mention this letter sounds an awful lot like whoever wrote the journal,” the teen added, Drake looking at her quickly.

“That’s right, you read the whole thing,” he noted. Pressing one knuckle to the lip of his bill while staring down at the letter, his frowned deepened. “So… so – this letter…”

“Yeah?”

“This letter….”

“Yeah…?”

“This letter-!”

“Oh good grief –” with a roll of her eyes, Gosalyn snatched the letter and waved it in her dad’s face. “This letter is probably the key to this whole mystery! Not the journal, this!”

“… I don’t follow you.”

“Okay first, we start with what we know,” the teen said, laying the letter on the counter and smoothing out the folds. “We know that whoever wrote the journal was involved with the show, because they had all that insider stuff in it and all that.”

“Right!” With a snap of his fingers, Drake began to pace back and forth, finger and bill touching and coffee mug left on the counter behind him. “And the author of the journal is the one leaking those claims to Featherly Do-Well.”

“The taxi driver from last night called you ‘Dweebwing’,” Gosalyn added, tiptoeing closer to her dad’s forgotten mug of coffee, swiping it off the counter.

“And the author of this letter,” Drake lifted the mug out of her hands, spinning around and swirling the remaining coffee, “was the only person before tonight to ever use that name. Not to mention,” he took his final swallow of coffee and handed Gosalyn the empty mug as he continued to pace, “that the language of this letter distinctly reflects the language of the journal, and the author was the only person who ever knew that you existed, and that is clearly addressed in that letter.”

“Couldn’t someone else have known?” Gosalyn asked, putting the mug in the sink behind her.

“Not a chance! I’m absolutely  _positive_  that this mystery author is the only person from the show that ever knew you existed. Positive! Thus, we can conclude that…!”

Gosalyn shrugged. “…that…?”

Drake slapped his palm across his face. “…  _that_  the author of the journal, the one who hired that taxi driver to get their journal back, is also the same anonymous antagonist who wrote this letter all those years ago! HAH!” Puffing his chest out, Drake shined his nails on his tee-shirt. “Yeeeep, it’s no wander old Oxford is still hounding me about joining the force.”

“Dad,” Gosalyn puckered her bill with a frown, “something still doesn’t make any sense. Why would the author plant their journal where they knew Honker would find it? Especially if they were only going to steal it back later?”

“You raise an interesting inquiry, daughter dearest,” Drake muttered, returning to his thinking pose. “What all did the journal say? Was there anything about dangerous secrets that might ruin the show? Insider information? Things like that? Anything the author would want to keep to his or herself?”

“Nah,” the teen shrugged. “Mostly just how much of a jerk you were, I’m pretty sure.”

“Not particularly helpful,” the Mallard scowled. “Think, Mallard, think!” Bumping the heel of his heel into his forehead, Drake grumbled to himself.

“Dad, take it easy!” Gosalyn took a few steps towards the older duck, “you could have brain damage for all we know! Well, more than usual.”

Giggling, Drake clicked his tongue at Gosalyn, leaning one hand on the edge of the counter. “Gosalyn, Gosalyn, Gosalyn! When are you going to learn that your old man has got everything totally, and completely – YIPE!” Yelping, the towel under his hand slipping out from under him, Drake crashed bill-first to the ground.

“’Under control?” Gosalyn muttered, bending over and lifting the towel off his face. “Is that what you were about to say?”

Drake glared at up at. “Maybe.” Suddenly bolting upright, he sat up and shook his head, grabbing Goslayn’s arms and jammed his face into her own. “What did you just say?!”

“’Under control’?” the teen replied hesitantly. “But I didn’t mean-!”

“No, no,” Drake stood with the help of the counter, “before that.”

“’You could have brain damage’?”

“EUREKA!” Drake exclaimed suddenly, rushing and scooping up his daughter in a hug. “Gosalyn, you are a genius! A genuine genius!”

Gosalyn giggled as Drake spun around, the mallard dropping her to the floor, both stumbling to the floor, heads spinning. “What did I say?” she snorted.

“It’s painfully obvious to me now,” Drake smiled at her from across the tile floor, “we’ll just blame the concussion for my not realizing it sooner, just why the author would plant their journal where Honker would find it!”

“Okay, why?” the teen shrugged. “Why did the Phantom care so much about Honker they would risk losing their journal?”

“Because they don’t care about Honker,  _they care about what Honker cares about_ ,” Drake smacked his fist into one palm. “Also, Gos, really? ‘The Phantom’?”

“Not the point, Dad,” grumbled the teen as she stood and helped her dad to his feet.

“You’re right, Gosalyn. The point is that,” Drake gulped, “the Phantom knows about the Muddlefoots.”

 

* * *

 

 

“I just don’t think this is a good idea,” Herb was whining. Gosalyn, however, appeared from nowhere and threw an arm halfway around his obese shoulders before he could finish.

“Lighten up, Herb-man! Me and Dad staying close by is the best way to keep you all safe!”

With a loud crash, the hitch between the trailer and lemon finally came undone, dropping the trailer into the Muddlefoot’s driveway with a tremendous shake, bolts and nuts flying off by the handful. Having leapt several feet backwards at the rough landing, Drake turned to them, and offered a wide grin and thumbs up.

“And, uh, don’t mind the mess,” Gosalyn added with a chuckle. Leaping off Herb, she rushed back to the trailer as her dad kicked the stoppers underneath the tires.

“Heya, uh, Herb, wassit?” a donkey-faced neighbor greeted over the front hedge, staring at the trailer in terror. “What’s, uh, what’s going on over here?”

“Oh, howdy there neighbor,” Herb chuckled nervously, waddling to the hedge. “Oh, you mean all of this! Haha, well, uh – this here is, uh, and his little girl there is – uh… well, they’re –”

“Pond,” Drake greeted, sliding next to Herb on the grass and offering his hand for the neighbor to shake. “James Pond, pleasure to meet you! This is my girl Stella…” Gosalyn appeared on Herb’s other side, leaning her crossed arms on him, offering the neighbor a flutter of her eyelashes. “… And of course you know Herb-man here! Beloved cousin of the family, letting his out of town kin crash on his driveway, ain’t that sweet! Just like old Herb!” Grabbing Herb in a chokehold, Drake brought the large duck to his knees, grinding his knuckles into Herb’s head with a ferocious nuggy.

“Pay no mind to the ruckus,” Gosalyn laughed, startling the donkey. “The trailer is just temporary until Daddy and I can get back at the crummy dealer for sticking us with this piece of junk! ‘Sport model’, he said, hah! Does this look like a ‘sports model’ to you!?”

Gulping, his sharply ironed collar in Gosalyn’s hands, the donkey flashed a nervous smile, backing several steps away. “Well, uh, welcome to the neighborhood!” he choked, tugging at his collar. “We’ll, uh, we’ll leave you to get settled in! Please don’t let us know if you need anything!!” Spinning around, the donkey bolted back into his own house, Gosalyn swearing she could hear the front door lock.

“Haha, chump,” she chuckled, hearing a strange choking sound from behind her. “Dad,” she scolded, walking to the pile of duck on the lawn, “you can let Mr. Muddlefoot go now.”

Sighing, Drake opened his arms, releasing the chokehold and letting Herb fall to the ground with a bouncing whump and strangled cough.

“You can’t strangle him yet, I’m afraid,” Gosalyn reminded her dad in her best posh, snobbish voice, leaning one elbow on his shoulder after helping him to his feet. “We  _do_  need him alive for the time being.”

“Shame,” the taller Mallard clicked his tongue, “but you are right, daughter darling, like always.” Brushing off his hands, Drake crossed his arms and tossed Gosalyn a posh smile. “I just  _can’t_  seem to keep my hands from around that big, irresistible blubber ball’s fat greasy neck, you understand.”

“Oh yes, yes of course,” the teen backed off, waving her hands at the ridiculous notion, “I understand completely, father dearest. I find it perfectly hard to resist myself, you know.”

“Oh but you do it so with such dignity and grace,” Drake offered his arm and turned back to the house. Gosalyn looped her own through it and walked in stride with him. “I’ve simply no idea where you get it.”

“Pish posh, father dearest, pish posh!”

Behind them, Herb frowned to himself, still rubbing his neck.

“Who’s ‘Pish’?”

 

* * *

 

 

After dinner that night, the two families were gathered in the living room, Herb handing out pie and ice cream to everyone. Pausing before handing the other mallard his plate, Herb flashed Drake a hesitant smile, who aimed a dangerous smirk back. The larger duck chuckled, extending the plate of dessert outwards as far as his arm could go, Drake snatching it from him, being sure to keep a constant stare on Herb. Once his chore was finished, the larger duck hurried back behind the couch and into the kitchen, Drake reclining on the arm of the couch, cutting a piece out of his pie.

“Honestly, Drake,” Binkie was saying from her comfortable recliner, Honker curled up next to her, “Flintheart Glomgold himself?”

“Kilt and all,” the mallard shrugged. Herb returned and, offering another grin, which only got him another sharp glare, squeezed himself onto the opposite end of the couch, hugging the arm rest as closely as he could.

“That’s so peculiar,” Binkie shook her head. “I know dozens of fine people that will kill a man just for a chance to meet Mr. Glomgold.”

Stunned, Herb turned on Binkie with a gasp.

“Binkums! You always say the business is cut throat, but that’s a little too much, wouldn’t you say?”

“Metaphorically, of course,” Binkie giggled, earning her a rightful nod from Herb who turned greedily back to his pie.

“You really got to ride in a ba-jillionaire’s limo, Gosalyn?” asked Honker.

The teen was stretched out across the floor, leaning against where her father curled up on the couch. “Big deal. My dad is a celebrity!”

Gasping in offense, Drake bounced his spoon against the top of the girl’s head, who yelped, tossing a quick glare up at him.

“What did that penny-pinching Glomgold want with you two anyway?” asked Binkie.

Cutting off another bite of pie, Drake pointed it teasingly at the canary. “My, my, Binkie. Our opinion of Mr. Gumglob just keeps dropping, doesn’t it?”

“As a matter of fact, my opinion of Mr. Glomgold was never high to begin with,” the woman sat back in her recliner. “I have too many associates who have helped too many clients that have been cheated and stolen from by that Scottish menace. I have never thought more lowly of a character in all my life.”

“Binkums!” Herb gasped again.

“Hush now, Herb!” she snapped. “It’s my house, and I’ll say my opinions as I’d like.”

“She’s got you there, Herby,” Drake swallowed. “Actually, Binkie, he wanted to buy DW Studio, if you can believe that.”

“That is peculiar,” Honker replied. “Why would someone like Mr. Glomgold be interested in that old studio? All that was in there was junk and old receipts.”

“We asked him the same thing,” Gosalyn swallowed, setting her plate and spoon aside with a satisfied sigh. At least she had enough decency to cover her burp. “’Scuse me. But all he said was he was ‘doing Dad a favor’.”

“Could you even sell him the property?” Binkie asked. “I mean, only the primary lease-owner of a business property has that kind of selling power.”

“Well yes and no,” Drake set his plate and spoon aside as well. “I do own most of the land, actually, and everything else in or that came out of that studio. But Scrooge McDuck owns 30% since it was his money I used to get the whole thing off the ground.”

“30% of the studio?” Honker asked.

“Of everything. The character, the theme song, the whole kit and caboodle, and I own the rest. Course,” Drake scooted to the edge of the couch and stretched his back, “I didn’t want Glimglam to know that. I actually don’t prefer anyone to know that, so I sent him chasing after Scrooge for a while. At least until I figure out what to do with it all.”

“You know,” Binkie handed her plate to Drake, who had stood to collect them, “I have quite a few connections to  _Glomgold Industries_. I might be able to poke around for you if you’d like. You really don’t have to do that, by the way.”

“Happy to help,” the Mallard shrugged, turning and glaring expectantly at Herb, who offered his plate, gently laying it on the stack.

“Where do you work, again, Mrs. M?” Gosalyn asked, handing her dad her dishes.

“ _Twin Beaks Law_ ,” the canary smiled. “My father always wanted me sister and I to be stay at home mothers, so we became lawyers instead.”

“Keen gear!”

“As nice as your offer is, Binkie,” Drake leaned his elbows on the back of the couch, hands full of dishes, “I’m afraid I can’t ask you to go attracting attention to yourself like that. Between the fire, being framed for it, that taxi driver last night, and whomever is spilling all those anonymous tips and rumors to the police and Featherly-go-lightly, we’ve got enough loose ends to juggle at the moment. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” the canary smiled.

“You love Featherly too?” Herb asked excitedly, spinning around to look up at Drake. “I think she’s just delightful. Always good to see a familiar face on the news, I always say.”

Drake’s expression flatlined into something halfway between annoyed and severely unimpressed. “Yes, Herb, I just  _loooooove_  Featherly and the way she treats that new reporter like an ignorant child, just like I  _looooove_  Gobgoober. That’s why I’m constantly giving them funny nicknames, to express how much I  _loooooove_  them.”

“Is that right?” Herb smiled, turning back in his seat and crossing his arms. “Well, ain’t that dandy. Hey, wait a minute, you haven’t given me a funny nickname!”

“Keep pushing it, pal,” Drake forced past a wide smile, “and I might just change that.”

“I’ll help you with the dishes, Mr. Mallard,” called Honker, leaping out of the chair, his mother yelping as the recliner swung back and forth.

“Why thank you Honker,” Drake smiled, carefully handing the teen a handful of dishes. “My, my, what a nice and helpful young—”

“Don’t even start, Dad,” Gosalyn warned, and Drake shrugged innocently, leading the canary to the kitchen.

Once there, Drake put the dishes in the sink like Honker instructed. After the mallard turned the water on and the teen opened the dishwasher, they set to rinsing and loading them.

“Mr. Mallard,” Honker pushed his glasses back up his beak, “can I – can I ask you a question?”

“Honker,” Drake shook the water off his hands, leaning against the sink with one, the other on his hip as he faced the young canary, “when I met you yesterday, all I knew was that you and my daughter had both been picked up and given a ride downtown for trespassing in the studio, I thought you were either the arson or the thief or both who was out to cause nothing by malicious mayhem for me and Gos, and today I hooked up my bucket-of-bolts-trailer to your oasis-type-and-absurdly-large home because someone from an old cartoon from five years back is out to turn me, and by association my daughter and your entire family, into stuffed pillows. At this point,” he turned back to the sink, sticking his hands in the water, “nothing is out of the question.”

“Okaaaaay,” the teen hummed, loading the dishes Drake handed him into the machine. “Well… it’s about the journal. Did the show end like the journal said it did?”

Drake sighed, keeping his attention on the sink in front of him. “You read it too, did you?”

“Yes sir,” the canary blushed. “I mean, I’ve been rereading the pictures I took of each page for my own archives. I hope that’s okay.”

“Honker,” the mallard turned to blink up at the taller teen, “you took pictures of intimate details about my personal life for your scrapbook – wait a minute! You took pictures of intimate details about my personal life? All of them?!”

“Uh,” Honker readjusted his glasses, “yes? I like to keep a record of everything.”

“Woo-hoo!” Drake cheered leaping into the air. “Wait, wrong show.” Grabbing Honker’s wrist, he pulled the boy into the living room and to the base of the stairs. “Gosalyn! Super-family meeting! Now!”

Leaping up, Gosalyn followed as her dad shoved the confused canary up the stairs.

“Everything okay?” Called Binkie.

“Everything is great! Your son,” Drake called back, “has been taking pictures of intimate details about my personal life! For his scrapbook!”

 

* * *

 

Honker’s bedroom was typical of most teenage boy’s rooms, except for everything about it. “Wow,” Drake had muttered after throwing the door open. “You live here?”

“Sure,” Honker squeezed past the mallard, grabbing his laptop off his desk.

“It’s so clean. And empty…” Drake flinched quietly, knowing exactly why that was. A few maps or posters from popular video games hung on the wall, but the space was almost completely lacking in any of the boy’s personality. Not even a discarded piece of clothing was laying lost on the floor somewhere.

“Dad,” Gosalyn pushed her dad into the room, “what’s this all about? We haven’t had a super-family meeting since I was twelve and you thought I was stealing people’s bikes.”

“And I apologized for that accusation and did everything I could to help clear your name,” the mallard replied, sitting next to Honker on his bed, who was typing away on his laptop. “On any note, I think I should be asking you the questions, little missy, like how it somehow slipped your mind that your nerdy friend here took a picture of every single page of the journal?”

“Uh, ‘no offense’?” Gosalyn suggested.

“None taken,” Drake waved off, and the teen rolled her eyes.

She kicked the desk chair out from under the desk and turned it backwards, sitting on it. “Gee, I don’t know Dad, it must have slipped my mind after almost being kidnapped!”

“Hah,” Drake waved the remark off, staring intently at the screen, “that was barely an attempted kidnapping. We both know you’ve been through worse.”

“Wait,” Honker frowned up at Gosalyn, “you have?”

“I had nothing to do with that green hair dye ending up in those sheep’s coats!”

Blinking, Honker pushed his glasses back up his beak. “Okay,” he nodded.

“Are these them?” Drake asked, snatching the laptop from Honker.

“Should be,” the teen replied, watching Drake scroll through the pages.

“Wow,” he sat back, “this is like a full-length novel! You actually sat down and read – er, skimmed all of this?”

“What?!” Gosalyn threw her arms out to the sides, “I like reading!”

“You do not!” Drake snapped back. “I can’t even  _bribe_  you to open  _half_  of your schoolbooks!  _Or_  any of my novels!”

“Dad, those are lame,” the teen wilted over the back of the chair. “This stuff is awesome!”

“’Awesome’?” Drake glanced up briefly from the screen with a skeptical bend in his eyebrows, “is that really the most accurate adjective you could think of?”

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh,” Gosalyn kicked her heels, leaning back in the chair. “Probably not? More like ‘exhilarating’!”

“Go back to ‘awesome’,” her father muttered.

“What exactly are you looking for, Mr. Mallard?” Honker asked, leaning over Drake’s shoulder. “Gosalyn and I did read it all, maybe we can help?”

“I know you did,” Drake muttered, connected his knuckle and bill, “but you don’t know these people like I do.”

“Wait, you  _do_  think someone involved in the show wrote this thing?” Honker asked.

“They had to! My deplorable treatment of everyone involved wasn’t strictly confidential, but this,” leaning back, Drake motioned to the screen, “has details that only someone actively involved and was on set everyday would have seen. Plus, this has details about my personal life that I don’t ever remembering sharing, and we’ve already confirmed the author knew about Gosalyn and where we lived, and I swear up and down that  _no one_  knew that.”

“We have?” the teen frowned at Gosalyn.

“Hate mail, old death threats, I’ll get you caught up later.”

“You might as well start now,” Drake muttered, leaning intently over the screen, “I’ve got three years of my life to read through here. It’s going to take a while.”

And a while is exactly how long it took. Drake didn’t move until Gosalyn pulled him out of the room and into their own trailer so the Muddlefoots could turn in for the night. Of course, Binkie had argued that they sleep in the house, they had plenty of space, but Drake had just enough sense to insist that he keep his reading in the trailer. He tended to be a very active reader. So, Binkie gave in, the families wished each other a good night, and headed to bed. Thankfully, Gosalyn, who had insisted that she keep an eye on her brain-damaged father, he made sure she knew he had heard that, was plenty used to her father’s all-night reading sessions, and could easily sleep past the pacing, squirming, late night coffee, and constant muttering and writing.

It was a quiet, restful night for everyone. Everyone except Drake.


	9. Forgetting St. Canard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drake faces the reality that one of his biggest fears might be coming true, and meanwhile, Gosalyn reveals pieces of the truth to Honker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic got 10 bookmarks! I said in my last chapter that I would celebrate the next milestone with an early release, and since I'm still not totally thrilled about this chapter, and it's a very short one, I decided to release it early. So, surprise!
> 
> Get hyped for the next chapter, because the fecal matter hits the whirling blades next chapter!!

“Come on, Honker,” Gosalyn groaned, dropping her hockey stick to the driveway with a slump of her shoulders. “It’s kind of hard to catch the puck if you close your eyes, you know.”

“I know that,” the other teen muttered, arms pinwheeling at his sides as he tried to stand in the bulky goalie padding he had been shoved into. “That’s why I keep doing it.” Finally upright, Honker stepped forward, catching a run-away lace and tripping, dumping himself in a pile on the driveway.

“Must not have tucked the laces in,” Gosalyn noted, skating to her friend and lifting him to his feet.

“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

“Do I know what I’m doing?” Enraged, the girl circled in front of Honker, pointing a gloved finger under his bill. “Every heard of Wing Gretzky? Mario Lemming? Bobby Orrter?”

“Uh, no?”

“You don’t need to Honk, they’re nobodies! The only name you need to know is Gosalyn Mallard!” The redhead spun around on the skates, readying her hockey stick, “because as soon as I go Pro, that’ll be the only name that matters! You can just start forgetting about the rest now.”

“But I don’t even know who they are.”

“Well everyone has to start somewhere,” Gosalyn shrugged. “Like Dad! Poor old buzzard couldn’t even stand on _roller_ skates when I rolled into his life. But now, you should see him!”

Honker gasped, pushing the helmet back up his head, “you taught your dad how to play hockey?”

“Yeeeep,” Gosalyn leaned on the stick, pretending to shine and inspect her nails even behind the gloves. “Some of my best work. And if I can turn that backwards bender into a beauty, I’ll teach you to skate!”

Honker swallowed, tugged at his collar. “Don’t say it. Even if it kills me?”

“Nah,” Gosalyn waved him off. “I won’t kill yah. The game will!” Drawing the stick back suddenly, Gosalyn hit the puck with all her might, which shot at Honker, speeding past him, hitting the rim of the net. Bouncing off it and into the air, the puck spun and then fell, landing on the top of the teen’s head.

“Ow!” he yelped, falling to the driveway. The puck bounced off his helmet and landed neatly in his gloves. Blinking, Honker looked from it up to Gosalyn, who offered her hand.

“How about a break for lunch?”

The two dropped themselves onto the front steps in heaps, both free from their stuffy padding. Gosalyn, stretching, watched Honker with a small smile, who cleaned the sweat and grit from the game off his glasses.

“I didn’t actually teach my dad how to play,” she confessed, Honker replacing his glasses and facing her. “Well, I helped a little.”

“You didn’t? Who did?”

Sitting forward, the teen untangled her ponytail, shaking her strawberry colored hair out, combing through the knots with her fingers. “See, I loved hockey more than anything. Still do. But I wasn’t always great with playing… uh, nice. Dad figured pretty early on that if he was going to keep grounding me for playing where I shouldn’t, maybe he should figure out where I could. So, he learned. At first, he took a few classes, but after long he didn’t have the time, so he had to drop them. But I taught him what I knew, and we’ve been playing ever since.” Pausing, Gosalyn shook her hair out again after unknotting it, brushing her bangs out of her face but letting the rest hang where it wanted. “It was pretty special seeing him come home real late every night, all beat up and wore out and sore from stunts and frustrated with actors and crew members, but always knowing that he’d spend the next couple of hours letting me hit pucks at him, no matter how bad he was feeling. It was one of the few things we really did together until the show ended. Guess that’s why he always put so much into it.”

“Wow,” Honker smiled, sitting back on the step. “My dad never did anything like that with me.”

“I got lucky I guess,” Gosalyn shrugged, leaning back and kicking her legs out. “It’s funny, but after the show ended and we skipped town, that’s when we really got to know each other. Dad and I would play hockey all the time, he started training me in martial arts--”

“Whoa, whoa,” Honker waved his hands, leaning forward again. “You were trained you in martial arts by Darkwing Duck?!”

“Oh yeah, totally!” Leaping to her feet, Gosalyn demonstrated a few kicks and punches for the stunned canary, staying upright even in her roller blades. “Dad learned all kinds of martial arts and acrobatics and wrestling type of stuff for the show, he did his own stunts you know, so when we suddenly had nothing better to do with our time, he taught me everything he knew. We still spar all the time to keep each other _razor sharp_!”

“That’s amazing,” Honker replied, Gosalyn sitting back down next to him.

“Course, now that I think about it, he was probably making sure I could defend myself in case whoever was sending those threats tracked us down… Gee,” she brushed her hair out of her face with her palm, “realizing that most of your childhood was really running from some peeved off coworkers from your dad’s old show really starts putting things in perspective.”

“Sorry,” Honker shrugged, and Gosalyn waved him off.

“Hey, it was still a rocking childhood.”

“Your dad is awesome,” Honker sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. “I wish I was raised by Darkwing Duck.”

Gosalyn glanced at Honker, her stomach twisted in knots. Between what she knew about Honker’s previous, and secret, obsession with the show, what her dad had confided in her about what had really happened to cause it’s decline, and the kind of duck it had turned him into, she squirmed nervously.

“You know, Honk, my dad was my dad when he raised me. I never even saw the set.”

“But still! To be raised and trained by a hero like that!” The canary sat back, making a large circle motion with his arms. “To have gone _all the way_ around the continent with him, from adventure and adventure! Golly, I’d give anything to have a dad half as cool as yours. Sometimes,” he blushed, fiddling with his glasses, “I pretended I was Darkwing’s sidekick! And we’d go on adventures together and I’d get to stay at Darkwing Tower, and sometimes I pretended he would adopt me, like Darkbat and Robin--! Oh…” the teen glanced at Gosalyn, whose face had hardened, his feathers blushing. “Sorry, Gosalyn, I shouldn’t have said that.”

“That’s why the Phantom gave you the journal, you know,” Gosalyn stated, the other teenager blinking at her.

“What?”

Gosalyn faced the canary, brushing back her hair nervously. “Honk, that’s why the Phantom gave you the journal. Dad figured it out. It’s because you’re one of his biggest fans.”

“I’m his _biggest_ fan!” Honker proclaimed, shooting to his feet.

“That’s why you were targeted! Honker, that journal told us both everything about what was really going on, and it’s currently telling the rest of the world as well, about everything! How much of a jerk Dad was, how much of a bully he was. He wasn’t a hero, Honk, he was a bull-faced blue-belled jerkwad, and he knows it, and now the rest of the city knows it. We were followed home last night by some angry nobodies because half the town wants to tar and feather Dad and the other half isn’t in any hurry to stop them. And then yesterday there was this crowd that swarmed us outside the police station, and the motel receptionist, and the other people in the trailer park... Dad gave your neighbor a fake name because Featherly’s smear campaign has been working. A little too well, but it’s been working.”

Slowly, Honker wilted, sinking back to the step. “You’re saying…?”

“I’m saying you’re probably the last remaining defender and fan of the show in all of St. Canard. The Phantom wanted to destroy that, to tear down your idol by showing you what was really happening since you weren’t falling for claims from the journal. So he gave you the journal itself. The full story.”

“Oh,” muttered Honker, curling up on the step. Gosalyn watched him carefully, biting her lip.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he sighed with a small smile. “I – I guess.”

“I’m sorry Honker, we didn’t want to tell you. Dad is…” Gosalyn motioned to the trailer, pausing to collect her thoughts. “Dad is great. He’s a super duck, but even I wouldn’t call him a hero, not fully. He’s just a guy who got a little turned around and is trying to find his way back.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Honker nodded, tapping his beak. The way his voice lit up with some new idea made Gosalyn twitch, and she faced him. “But--!”

“Buuuut…?”

“But he didn’t beat me!” the canary announced, leaping to his feet in triumph. “I’m still Darkwing Duck’s biggest fan, and first line of defense! No Phantom is going to scare that out of me!”

“Oh, good grief,” mutter Gosalyn, covering her face with one hand and shaking her head.

“Come on, Gosalyn,” he motioned for her to follow her inside the house, “We’ve got a reputation to save!”

 

* * *

 

 

Inside the trailer, Drake scribbled on the notepad next to him. With the other hand, he rubbed absently at the scabs on the split that stretched across the corner of his bill. He and Gosalyn had already decided, after carefully cleaning the various wounds he'd received from the malicious taxi driver, that the crack in his bill would definitely scar. There wasn’t a thing he could do to stop it, but if he kept rubbing at it, he’d have to tape it up so it could heal properly.

Halfway through his note, his pen dried up. Drake gave it a few shakes but it remained unresponsive, so he tossed the instrument aside and sighed, stretching his stiff muscles. He wasn’t sure what time it was exactly, but the sun had risen by now and Gosalyn had already emptied most of their hockey equipment onto the poor Muddlefoot’s driveway. She was probably torturing unfortunate Honker at present. But whatever time it was, he knew for a fact that he had, against his own better judgement, pulled an all-nighter.

The most frustrating thing hadn’t been how the journal had continuously failed to give him any clues as to who the author was, but had been the other truth the journal had revealed: Drake had forgotten more about the three years of the show’s running than he remembered, and the ratio was staggering. Sure, he remembered how terrible he had been to the other actors, he remembered finding the threat in the mail, and how everything had escalated, but those memories were only threads of the whole, an exact copy of everything he had realized about himself when Gosalyn’s adoption opened his eyes to the jerk he was, but beyond that… the number of events meticulously detailed in the journal that he failed completely to conjure any memory of utterly terrified him.

Drake Mallard had been known for his memory. Hadn’t he? Of course he had, his memory was known to everyone he met or worked with, it was his most defining feature. Drake remembered the tint of gray Gosalyn’s eyes took before she went into anaphylactic shock, the smell of crab grass on the farm he’d been forced to take a field trip to as a kid, the cracks and weight of his mom’s favorite mug, the pattern on the skirt of the first girl he ever kissed. He remembered the scent of Great Uncle Malachi’s cologne at his wife’s funeral, the terror of his first molting, spotting a pair of teenage hooligans sneaking into a movie theater without buying tickets. He was mystery solver, a detective, a sleuth, who’s uncanny ability to remember the insignificant details had solved many of their past adventures, like how the wheels of the trailer had once been turned to a different angle then when he initially parked it and he realized a local pair of thugs had been using their trailer home as a get-away vehicle for their crimes, or how a fellow trailer-park neighbor was left-handed and couldn’t possible have broken into the check-in office and cracked open the safe, and countless others.

But here, now, with this journal, his own mental image of himself was crumbling. His Poppa’s memory had begun to fail at a very young age, certainly younger than Drake was currently, and he developed a “selective memory” that Mom had never believed to be real. Drake had already realized with horror that he had completely forgotten about his own best friend going to high school with him when Bully stirred up the memories, though he had remembered filming the “public servant” commercials with Bully and Slick and Featherly. And he hadn’t told Gosalyn this, but it wasn’t just ghosts that he was seeing when he stepped into the studio after five years, it was the fact that for several solid minutes, standing in silence with her hand in his own, he hadn’t recognized the set. His own Darkwing Tower. The Ratcatcher, the old fake computers, the fake windows, they were all foreign to him. The journal told him how he and the author had worked together to design the set, and how they had decided to completely fabricate the inside of the Audubon Tower bridge, since it wasn’t, in fact, hollow.

Yet there he had stood, having completely forgotten. Old instincts told him where his office was, and where the back door around the lobby had been, but the lettering on the fellow actor’s doors must have been installed after the show ended. He didn’t even think the other actors had changing rooms. In fact, he thought the entire back hallway had been empty except for his office.

Drake stood and dragged his empty mug to the sink, rinsing it out and leaning on the counter. His memory could _not_ be failing him like this. He could _not_ turn into his Poppa. He knew he always took after the old Mallard, he was certainly favored by him, but Drake had watched his father lose his mind. He has watched it tear his family apart. He willed himself into swearing that would never happen to him. He would never do that to Gosalyn, make her watch him wither away in front of her eyes. She didn’t have another soul in the world. They were both orphans.

Yet, there he stood.

Suddenly, he heard Gosalyn scream, and spun around, throwing the trailer door open. The sun temporarily blinded him, and he covered his eyes and blinked the dots out of his vision. He saw a flash of red and splash of yellow, and as his vision cleared, he saw Gosalyn and Honker at the front porch, Herb handing them glasses of what looked like lemonade. With a sigh, Drake padded down a few steps and slumped on them, yawning and stretching the worry out of his muscles.

There was no use on dwelling on his impending dementia when he had Gosalyn in the present.

“Heya Dad,” the teen smiled, skating over to him.

“You’re wearing your hair down,” he noted, almost giggling at the adorable way she blushed, trying to scoop the hair out of her face with an embarrassed whine. He couldn’t help himself and laughed, patting the step before him.

“How’s it going in there?” Gosalyn asked, hopping onto the step and offering him the hairband from around her wrist.

“Not terrible,” Drake lied from where he had vanished into the trailer to grab their only hair brush. “Need a new pen though.”

“That well, huh? Any idea who the phantom is yet?”

“Unfortunately no,” Drake sighed, picking apart a small knot in her hair with his fingers before brushing through the rest. “Besides the copious amounts of cringe-inducing flashbacks the journal has been giving me, the author hasn’t offered me any gold nuggets yet.”

“Phantom,” Gosalyn corrected, watching Herb and Honker walk over. “And you know what you always say: ‘a good mystery doesn’t hand you the clues, it slaps you in the face with them’.”

“I said that too? I should start writing this stuff down. I’ve got a few good ones.”

“You _should_ take a good break,” Gosalyn suggested, feeling Drake snap the band around her new ponytail. Turning, she looked up at him, offering him her lemonade. “You’ve been reading that stupid journal like you’re trying to find the lost city of Atlantis or something.”

“Wanna play some hockey with us, Mr. Mallard?” asked Honker. “Gosalyn said you’re pretty good.”

“’Pretty good’?” the mallard scoffed, dropping the lemonade with a pointed look. “Did she really?”

“I _might_ have said _something_ about you being able to _kind of_ play,” the teen shrugged, sliding off the stairs and picking her stick and mask up. “No big deal.”

Drake didn’t flinch when she threw the helmet at him and caught it with ease. Lowering it, he glared at the girl. “Did I ever tell you the story about the girl, the fib, and the life sentence?”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” the teen replied as sweetly as she could, spinning her helmet around her finger. “Maybe you could jog my memory?”

“I’ll do more than jog it, little lady.”


	10. St. Canard,  in Loving Memory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't going to do my normal upload today since I uploaded earlier this week, but this fic has 34 comments and 34 kudos and I liked the symmetry too much to ignore it.
> 
> It has nothing to do with the major feels I'm about to drop on everyone.

The hockey match was ridiculous and hard to follow, but the Muddlefoot audience would eat their own socks if it wasn’t the single most entertaining thing they had ever seen. Gosalyn took after her father in adding completely unnecessary flare and all things flamboyant to her moves, matching her father word for word in smack talk, which they exchanged almost as often as they did the puck. Honker decided early into the match that Gosalyn had been humble in her bragging. If she did teach Drake to play, she was a fantastic teacher. Though the older, larger Mallard was outmatched by Gosalyn’s speed in the small rink of the remaining half of the Muddlefoot’s driveway, he had the eye for coordinating his sneak attacks. They bumped and collided and wrestled back and forth for what seemed like hours, cutting up the driveway and jousting with their sticks. It had the Muddlefoots laughing almost as often as the Mallards cracked themselves up, the two dancing around some kind of invisible switch that could flip the them between playful wisecracks and genuine concern and sportsmanship for each other without notice. The game was an impressive display, not only of their skill, both in hockey and in comedy, but in their family bond.

On the other side of the street, meanwhile, a red clunker car sat in the shade of a large tree. The same large dog from the taxi sat in the driver’s seat, now sporting a black eye and missing a tooth thanks to Drake’s beating. Lowering his binoculars, he growled at his companions, a shorter dog and a tall, lanky one, who crowded near him in the car.

“You sure that’s them?” the Bigtime Beagle asked, and Bouncer nodded.

“Yeah. That’s the little rat and her washed-up dad!”

“Well,” Bigtime rubbed his hands together with a twisted smile, “this time, we won’t be leaving with just some crummy journal.”

As the sun began to set, painting the sky orange and blue, Drake and Gosalyn met, mask to mask, locking their sticks together.

“You’ll never get your mismatched mitts on that pesky puck, you heathenistic hockey-hound,” Drake growled with a wide smile.

“Hah!” Gosalyn laughed. “You really are a doddering dork if you think your sorry excuse for a shiny example of sportsmanship could ever possibly delay your pre-determined defeat!” Shoving Drake backwards with the only shove she had left on her, Gosalyn swung at the puck, which Drake popped forward and between her legs. Turning around the girl, he bumped her and swung at the puck, which soared into the net with a satisfying clatter.

“SCOOOOOOOOORE!” Drake cheered, tearing his mask off and holding it proudly above his head. “Thank you, thank you, really, thank you!”

On the lawn, in their comfortable lawn chairs, Honker and Herb both cheered, startling the Mallard. Smiling, he spun around and bowed to them. After tossing his helmet into the net, he circled to Gosalyn, flipping her ponytail as the girl leaned on her knees, panting and wheezing.

“’Shiny example of sportsmanship’?” he repeated with a skeptical smile, patting her back to help her lungs loosen up. The poor kid had always had bad lungs, since hatching prematurely, but he had learned how to help her however he could when they acted up and tried to stand in her way.

“Hush,” she spat, brushing her sweaty bangs out of her face with the back of her glove. Drake shrugged and Gosalyn took his offered hand, both ducks throwing themselves onto the lawn next to the Muddlefoots. Flattening themselves out and tossing their tired limbs where ever they would fall. They grew quiet, Gosalyn focusing on regaining her breath and Drake keeping an alert ear open.

“That was awesome!” Honker cheered, appearing above them offering them both some lemonade. “You two are really talented!”

“There’s no such thing,” Drake panted, holding one hand up and pulling the glove off it, “as talent.”

“Unless your talent is being an airhead,” Gosalyn jabbed, sitting up and grinning down at her dad with a few small coughs.

“I’ve always said you were crazy talented,” he smiled, the girl flashing a dangerous smile and leaping on him, straddling her dad’s waist and tickling him.

“No – no! GOS – GOSALYN! NO-O-O-O-O!” Drake laughed and rolled around under the teen, who continued her onslaught.

“Say that again-!” she laughed. “I dare you!”

“Well son,” Herb stood and stretched, “we’d better get this cleaned up before your mother gets home.”

Agreeing, Honker moved to set the glasses on the lawn table they had set up, a flailing leg suddenly knocking it over.

“S-s-sorry!” Drake laughed, rolling onto his side to try to escape his daughter’s attack.

“You won’t get away that easily!” she taunted, stopping just long enough to pull her gloves off with her teeth, resuming the tickles as Drake rolled onto his belly, sacrificing his ability to grab her to try to protect his ticklish underside. Of course, the manicured grass on his sensitive downy feathers didn’t do much to alleviate the situation.

While Herb stared at the hockey net and scratched his head, Honker collected the sticks and pucks. Grabbing at the puck, the teen accidentally kicked and sent it skidding to the curb.

“Darn it,” he muttered, following, and only repeating the motion. This time, the puck bounced off a decorative stone and into the hedges, which Honker knelt beside. Sticking his hand in, he rooted around for a minute, pulling the puck out with a victorious squawk. As he hurried away to help his dad, the tall, thin beagle, Burger, stood up from behind the hedge, rubbing his fresh blackeye. He glared silently after Honker, ducking into the bush as Herb waddled by.

“Hello, Binkums,” the large duck called, the canary stopping her car at the bottom of the driveway. Leaning out the window, she greeted Herb.

“Herb dear, why are there hockey nets set up in our driveway?”

“Oh,” laughed Herb, leaning on his knees by the window. “That’s just the Mal – Ponds taking advantage of the beautiful afternoon. We’ll have it cleaned up in a jiffy.”

“Don’t bother dear,” Binkie replied, shifting the car into reverse, “I think I can squeeze in past it.”

Hitting the gas, the woman bumped over the top of Bigtime. With a start, she checked the mirrors, but didn’t see anything, so she muttered something about potholes and drove up the driveway, again flattening Bigtime.

Climbing out of the car, Binkie was greeted with a kiss from Herb.

“Nice driving, deary!”

“Hah!” the canary twittered, waving the compliment aside. “Cleanest driving record in the subdivision! Hello, Honker!”

“Hi Mom,” the teen greeted, taking her hand and leading her around the front of the car. “Gosalyn showed me how to play hockey!”

“How exciting,” muttered Binkie, finally spying the mass of Mallard on the lawn, Gosalyn continuing to tickle her dad.

“Hiya, Mrs. Muddlefoot!” she greeted with a wave, giving Drake a short break, who had twisted back onto his side. “Now,” she turned back to her dad, “where was I?”

“I – I think that’s…” Coughing suddenly, Drake clutched his head as he was wracked with coughs, Gosalyn quickly tumbling off him.

“Dad?!” she panicked, crawling to his head, steering him upwards. “Breathe, Dad! Breathe!”

Drake did his best to wave her concern off, hacking a few more deep, trembling coughs. Finally, he gagged, spitting a piece of grass out of his mouth. With a heavy sigh, he tumbled back onto his back, arms outstretched.

“Grass?!” Gosalyn shrieked, smacking Drake with her gloves.

“Hello, Gosalyn,” Binkie smiled, crossing her arms. “Hello, Drake.”

“Hello Binkie,” Drake waved with a limp hand, remaining flat against the grass. “Don’t mind the – uh, mess. We’ll get it all taken care of.”

“No worries,” Binkie giggled, heading into the house, Honker following her with all the exciting highlights of the day.

“Gosalyn, would you like to help choose dinner?” called Binkie, and after her father waved her off, Gosalyn jumped up and hurried inside. At the door, she paused, asking Binkie to repeat her question.

“’Who won’? I did!”

“Gosalyn!” snapped Drake, Gosalyn rolling her eyes at him.

“ _Buuut_ , Dad _did_ pull through at the very last minute.” Having vanished inside the door, Gosalyn stuck her head back out quickly, sticking her tongue out at Drake. Scoffing, he returned the gesture, the teen ducking inside and closing the door.

Drake coughed a few more times as Herb walked over, cracking his back when the fit passed.

“Quite the girl you’ve got there, Drakey,” the larger duck said, slapping Drake on the back after he stood, nearly throwing the mallard back onto the grass.

“Yeah,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Swell.”

“You know,” Herb followed Drake to the hockey equipment, picking up the net while the smaller mallard sat on the trailer steps, untying his skates, “I never could get Honker interested in sports. And I tried, boy-howdy. Basketball, baseball, bowling, boating…”

“Just how far into the alphabet did you get,” Drake relied all too sweetly.

The net framing coming apart with a crack, Herb balled the whole contraption into one big knot. “I just couldn’t get anything to stick with the little guy. Never did figure out what was wrong.”

Herb tossed the knot into the trailer, which Drake dodged with a yelp. It crashed inside, sending the trailer rocking backwards and forwards, tossing Drake off the steps and to the driveway with a grunt. Looking at the trailer in terror over his shoulder, Drake aimed the glare at Herb and stood, kicking his other skate off and saddling them both over his shoulder. He was quick to take the other net out of Herb’s hands before he could destroy this one as well.

“Herb, and I know I’m going to shake-up your world-view here, but there’s nothing wrong with not liking sports. Even for a boy. Even for a boy like Honker. Especially for a boy like Honker. I wasn’t a very active kid myself,” Drake broke the net’s framing apart with a few well-placed twists and yanks, “and Gosalyn would have skated circles around me when I was her age. Heck, she still does. But,” tossing his neatly folded bundle into the trailer, which did not land with a loud or destructive crash, Drake dusted his hands off smugly, “sports aren’t for everyone. I was a bookworm myself. Comic books, mostly. A lot like Honker, and I know, that scares you. But the point is, if my parents had forced me to play sports, something I had no skill or touch for, and told me there was something wrong with reading comic books? I would have sworn off _all_ physical activities for the rest of my life, _as well as_ comics, and I would have been completely closed off to learning hockey so I could play with Gosalyn, or wrestling with her, and I _certainly_ wouldn’t be the writer or half as educated as I am today. Take it from me, neighbor,” Drake pulled the shoulder pads off, tossing them into the trailer with the rest, “it’s your job to open Honker up to all the possibilities you can, and support him with whichever ones he chooses.”

Watching Drake walk back to the house with a large yawn, Herb scratched his head, tossing the last armful of equipment into the trailer. Climbing the stairs, which caused the entire mobile home to tilt, he carefully closed the door.

Underneath the trailer, the beagle boys crawled, ready to snatch at the large duck. When Herb stepped off the stairs, however, the trailer rocked back, the wheels landing on the beagles, who clamped their mouths shut with both hands to keep from screaming.

Hearing the commotion, Herb paused, looking around. Not seeing anything, he shrugged, heading to the house, when suddenly he screamed, something grabbing him and yanking him off his feet. Everything went quiet.

 

* * *

 

 

Inside, Binkie and Honker were setting the table, Binkie asking Gosalyn to get some glasses, please, and pointing to the cupboard where the girl could find them. “Where have your fathers gotten off to?” she wondered, watching Gosalyn hop to the task. “If Herb doesn’t get that grill fired up soon, it will be dark by the time dinner is ready!”

Honker, setting the last plate on the table, spoke up. “I saw Dad talking to Mr. Mallard outside when we came in. Maybe they’re just… chatting?”

“My dad and your dad ‘chatting’?” Gosalyn scoffed, placing the glasses down, “Yeah right.”

On cue, Drake trudged his way into the kitchen, one hand messaging his lower back. “Gosalyn, I think you pulled something.”

“Sorry,” the teen smiled.

“Sure,” Drake yawned loudly, covering it with his elbow, “like I believe that.”

“I think Daddy should be sent to bed without dinner,” the redhead grinned, leaning on the table. “Just look at those bags under his eyes! He can barely keep them open.”

“Listen here, you whipper-snapper,” the mallard half-heartedly waved a fist at her, “I may already have one foot in the grave but I can still kick your fluffy tail feathers.”

“Sure Dad,” Gosalyn replied, unimpressed, “whatever you say.”

“Drake,” Binkie asked, stepping towards the shorter duck, “was Herb behind you?”

Drake motioned behind him, turning to look over his shoulder at the front door. “He just was. Must have gotten lost somewhere between the…” he yawned again, “…driveway and the front door. Geez, maybe I do need a nap.”

“You think,” he heard Gosalyn grumble, and aimed a weak glare in her general direction.

“Oh pimpernel!” Binkie growled, storming past Drake and to the front of the house.

“Yeesh…” Leaning against the doorframe, his arms loosely crossed, Drake turned to the teens and motioned at Binkie over his shoulder, “what’s gotten into her?”

“Dad promised last week he’d grill these steaks Mom got before the weekend was over,” Honker replied. “I guess he hasn’t yet.”

“Wait, did you say ‘grill’?” Gosalyn slid across the floor over to the taller teen, “and ‘steaks’?!”

“Uh, yeah? Sometimes Dad even lets me help him light the grill.”

“Keen gear!” Gosalyn cheered, spinning around and zipping past her dad, digging the matches out of the kitchen drawer. “Then let’s get on it!”

“Gosalyn!” Drake warned, and, already halfway to the door, the teen stopped and turned to him.

“We’ll be careful, Dad, it’s just one little grill! And Honker has done this before, right Honk?”

“Actually,” Honker stumbled after her to the back door, “I usually just watch.”

“Nope,” Drake stood up from where he leaned against the wall, tossing his hands into the air, “I am NOT in ANY condition to handle this.”

Dropping himself onto the couch, Drake took on a long, deep breath, held it, and let it out gratefully. He couldn’t remember the last time he was this tired. Sure, he had had some very tiring days, even after the show ended, but in the last four days since moving to St. Canard neither Drake nor Gosalyn had had a single restful evening. Between their fight, spending the night at that hole-in-the-wall-motel, Drake’s terrible nightmares after the attack from the taxi driver, and his all-nighter while reading the journal, not to mention all the fights, emotional stress, injury to his body, the hockey match, and the looming presence of this mysterious “Phantom” in between, Drake felt like he could sleep for days. Now that he was sitting on the luxurious couch and had somehow turned the evening news on, that was becoming a very real possibility.

Apparently the local news station was running a prime time special on the “newly surfaced controversy surrounding the cancelation of one of TV’s biggest smash hits, the Saturday morning cartoon known simply as _Darkwing Duck_.”

“Sheesh,” muttered Drake, leaning one elbow on the armrest and his bill in his hand, accidentally rubbing at the scabs, “will they ever stop calling it a ‘cartoon’?”

Featherly, of course, was hosting the program, and her first order of business was to recap all of her “exclusive” and anonymous tips that had first brought the controversy to the media’s attention. At the sight of the green duck, Drake immediately missed that Dane girl, pleasantly pleased that he, and no doubt others, had begun to associate the two. Of course, considering how unpleasant and rude Featherly had been to the young reporter, Drake hoped that maybe Miss Roxanne Dane had the night off.

 _“Claims,”_ Featherly continued, _“that Drake Mallard has since failed to deny.”_

“I also failed to confirm them,” the mallard muttered, “but I don’t see you highlighting that part.”

_“As you can see, these claims all clearly outline the state of ruin that had begun to infect the popular series. Each one also explains, in graphic detail, the revolting and shameful working conditions that lead writer, original visionary, and lead actor Drake Mallard subjected his crew and fellow cast members to, with years of verbal abuse, emotional harassment, and otherwise inhumane treatment and expectations.”_

“Oh, come on!” Drake cried, sitting up and waving at the screen. “It’s no fair accusing me of things I barely remember!” Growling at himself, Drake sat forward over his knees, messaging his head. Why did he have to remind himself that he couldn’t remember it all? Now that mystery and paranoia would be tearing apart his head all night when he’d much rather be relaxing and enjoying a quiet evening and hot meal.

 

* * *

 

 

Outside, Binkie rounded to the front of the house, having searched the back as well, and frowned, putting her hands on her hips. The sky was beginning to turn dark, and the streetlights hadn’t switched on yet, so the light coming from the inside of the Mallard’s trailer was hard to miss.

“Herb Muddlefoot,” the canary growled, stomping up the steps, “if you are in there poking around in these nice people’s things, why I’ll just-!”

“Just what, sugar-lips?” asked the Beagle Boys from inside the trailer, snatching Binkie and yanking her inside.

 

* * *

 

 

 _“We now welcome,”_ Featherly was saying, Drake rubbing his eyes in attempts to keep them open _, “world-renown adventurer, explorer, and local kajillionaire, the richest duck in the world, Scrooge McDuck. Mr. McDuck, thank you for coming.”_

With a wide smile, Scrooge tipped his top hat, thanking Miss Featherly for agreeing to let him participate.

Bolting upwards, Drake stared at the TV in utter shock, his eyes bulging. “WHAT? SCROOGE?!”

_“I’m sure many of our viewers out there are curious as to your involvement with the critically acclaimed series, Mr. McDuck, and following collapse, so if you will, could you clarify that?”_

_“Certainly,”_ Scrooge nodded. _“It was, nine years ago now, that a young man came to me and asked me to invest in his new television program, and I did, after some lively negotiations, of course.”_

Drake remembered the interview well, he noticed with a pang of annoyance. The metallic smell of the Money Bin mixed with the spray of the Audubon Bay that surrounded it, how Scrooge had let him do most of the talking, and how the older duck’s skepticism had turned to enthusiasm over their meeting that Drake knew had gone well over his allotted time slot. He was so young then, full of excitement and, well, genuine passion. Drake had forgotten, not do to a memory malfunction but simply because of time, just how much he believed in _Darkwing Duck_ before anyone else had ever even heard of the name. Drake snickered to himself, and wondered where that enthusiasm had gone. Was it lost with his missing history? Had it simply been pushed aside as Drake doubled down on keeping the whole project afloat?

Then, another question popped up, and Drake sat up slowly, a frown wrinkling his face. Why hadn’t Drake invited _him_ to the interview? But, Drake scowled at himself, who was “him”? No one else was at Drake’s side at the start of the project, no one but Scrooge. But, his brain had asked him so matter of factly, like the missing figure was obvious, a given, and shouldn’t have required any explanation.

The obvious. Drake Mallard’s kryptonite.

 _“Considering you had such high stakes in the success of_ Darkwing Duck _, and considering your history as a very involved investor, I’m sure you kept close tabs on the project.”_

 _“Aye,”_ Scrooge nodded, but his features betrayed a hint of skepticism _, “I like to keep a close eye on everything my money touches.”_

_“Then you must have had at least one run-in with original visionary and head of the project, Drake Mallard, if not several. What, in light of everything that has surfaced about him now, were your first impressions?”_

_“If I gave my ‘first impression’ of Mr. Mallard ‘in light of everything that has surfaced’, as you put it, I’m afraid it woulnae be my ‘first impression’. None the less,”_ Scrooge sighed and sat more upright in his chair, _“I will tell you this: that duck, even in the few times I met with him throughout the show’s running, had more spirit and light in ‘im that I have ever seen in any other creature on this green earth. You’re all so quick and hasty to judge the man based on everything this anonymous neigh-sayer has told you, but you’ve absolutely neglected to look at everything he was doing right! That silly little show was his heart and soul, and he worked from sun up to well past sun down to see that it was everything he wanted it to be, and everything he knew it the had potential to be, if only someone pushed it hard enough.”_

 _“And,”_ Featherly leaned forward, clearly reevaluating her attack strategy _, “what exactly was that, in your opinion?”_

_“What do you mean, ‘in my opinion’? It’s obvious! That television program, like Drake Mallard said himself just a couple a days ago, was a shining light and heroic inspiration to everyone who watched it. Children, juveniles, their parents, every single person that watched that show even once could see just how much love and heart Mr. Mallard and the rest of the team put into it. And do you think they did that just because they had some nasty words said to them? Lass, if you think that, you have never worked with a team filled with conviction before, and Drake Mallard had conviction!”_

_“So, you don’t believe these claims are true?”_

_“I dinnae say that,”_ Scrooge shook his head _. “I wasnae there enough to know, or say one way or another, but I do know how much that duck was stretching himself far beyond his own capacities, and he did it, not because of the presses, not because of the fame or money, but because he, the very same Drake Mallard that I knew and had the privilege of working closely with, and that you have for some reason gotten such a kick out of dragging through the mud, had_ spirit _. And when you’ve got that much spirit,”_ Drake could have sworn the old duck faced the camera, and spoke right at him through the screen, _“it’s everyone else that looks empty.”_

For once in his life, Drake Mallard was speechless. He stared at the screen in gentle shock and surprise, his eyes slowly dropping from the face of a duck he really should have considered a friend when he had the chance. It was silly, probably, to take Scrooge’s words as a message meant for him, as some coded or subtle encouragement that only the two of them, out of the hundreds of thousands of people watching, could really understand, but Drake never took himself too seriously. Gosalyn warned him against doing so.

“Gosalyn!” he cried, looking to the backdoor. Suddenly, he noted just how dark it was outside, how quiet the house had become, and how the grill in the backyard had yet to explode. With concern bubbling up in his chest, he padded to the backdoor and checked the time on the oven. It had been entirely too quiet for entirely too long, especially with Gosalyn within 20 miles.

The backdoor slid aside with a small hiss and Drake checked the dark space, seeing quickly that the sun had gone down, the yard was empty, and the grill was knocked sidewise.

“Gosalyn?” he cried, hurrying onto the back porch and frantically searching the corners of yard. “GOSALYN?!”

 _“Our next guess,”_ Featherly was saying, Drake running back inside and heading for the front door, _“is a bit of a character in themselves. They claim to have worked closely with the_ Darkwing _project, and insist they are the source of those anonymous claims this channel was been releasing. Mr. Phantom, welcome.”_

Screeching to a halt, Drake ducked back by the TV and watched it over the back of the couch.

 _“Thank you for having me,”_ came the dark, scratchy voice from the shadowed figure on the screen. The sound of the voice made Drake’s blood run cold, and images of tar-like air, his daughter screaming, and that haunting laugh all flashing before his vision. “GOSALYN?!” he screamed again, rushing for the front door but finding the yard empty and quiet, just like the backyard. “Honker? Binkie? Anyone?!”

After slamming the door, Drake hurried back to the TV and dialed Gosalyn’s phone, pacing impatiently as it rang. Oblivious to his panic, the interview continued.

 _“Yes,”_ the Phantom replied, _“I used to be very – closely related to Darkwing Duck.”_

_“Were you an actor, perhaps? Or crew member?”_

_“No, no,”_ the voice chuckled, _“I played a more intimate role. Something closer to the heart of it all, I would say.”_

_“You’ve said you are the author of those controversial statements surrounding the show’s demise and Drake Mallard’s behavior. If this is true, why wait until now, five years later, to come forward with these horrifying stories?”_

Laughing again, the Phantom shrugged _. “Who’s been waiting? I’ve been very busy in the last five years. In fact, one could even say,”_ Drake lowered the phone, which failed to pick up, and glanced at the TV, _“I’ve been doing a bit of my own producing.”_

_“Could we have any more details than that?”_

_“I’m not doing this for the property, Featherly, I’m not even doing this for the fame, or the air time, or the attention. I didn’t burn that studio because I wanted my own prime time special. I just wanted my family to finally come back home, after all these years. Something I’m sure good old Drakey Mallard can understand.”_

The villain laughed, Drake clutching at his chest, feeling it begin to tighten with panic and fear. The laughter came at him from every side, mocking him and bouncing against his bones. This laughter, something about it, began to scratch at the door Drake had built in the furthest reaches of his memory, locked up and pushed away, deep behind a childhood’s worth of missing memories.

And in horror, he realized that something from the other side was scratching back.

_“Is this your plan then? All of this to discredit Drake Mallard?”_

The Phantom smiled a wide, twisted smile full of gleaming teeth _. “Oh no, this is only step one!”_ Suddenly, the figure jumped onto his chair and threw a flashbang against the floor, which exploded in light and a sharp sound. The mics were filled with the screams of the cameraman and crew, smoke filling the lens. _“Come on then,”_ the figure leaped from the smoke, grabbing one of the camera and pointing it at himself. His white feathers, black mask, red hat, and bold hornet-yellow jacket danced together in the static of the camera. _“Come on and be a hero, Dweebwing!”_

All at once, Drake stumbled backwards, dropped the phone, and screamed. All at once, the hinges to that vault door shattered like ice and all the memories came rushing out, eating and tearing at everything in their path as they devoured their way to Drake’s nerves and infected his senses, cutting them all off from reaching him. All at once, he was spiraling downward into a freefall of trauma.

A small duck, his arm wrapped in a pink cast, sat and cried. His feathers were ruffled, his bruises were fresh, and the bullies around him all chanted at him.

_“Dweebwing has a broken wing! Dweebwing has a broken wing!”_

For some reason, maybe because he was always shut in and ill tempered, maybe it was because he was clumsy and frail and prone to injures, or maybe it was just because St. Canard was too small for the smallest within her borders to survive, but the nickname never left. In middle school, it came back, and brought bigger, meaner bullies with it. In high school it returned again, with hazings and fresh tortures and horrors.

Somewhere, Drake shook his head, his own mind was too clever for him. There was something else than a nickname - THE nickname hidden in these memories; there was still that laughter that scratched against his bones and that voice that clawed at his nerves. There was something else -!

“DIVER!” Drake screamed, stumbling to his tail, his hands gripping and clawing at the pressure building within his head.

Then, like a pulse, it all exploded outward. His nerves went numb, his vision went white, and his hearing rang with noise that was too loud to even process.

He panted, muscles trembling. As quickly as it flashed into existence it passed. The onslaught subsided, and his senses returned, but so did the memories. They were fresh and waiting for him to explore them, soft and pure. With a deep breath that shook him, he did, starting at the beginning.

As those bullies teased a  poor little duck with a broken arm and pink cast, a shadow darted between them. It was small, but it was violent. In middle school, while Drake was under attack, the shadow was there, kicking and punching the bullies away. It returned again in high school, with fresh insults and attacks to use.

Then, there was the fighting, and the arguments. How Drake would insult the shadow. How Drake used to beat the shadow with his words and demands. “No, not like that! I don’t move like that!” “Faster!” “MOVE!” “HIGHER!” “You’ve always been in my shadow, Diver! Learn to stay there, or get off the set!”

“You won’t last,” the shadow had laughed at him. Laughed!

“I’m warning you, _Negaduck_ -!”

More laughter. Hysterical laughter. As if the shadow hadn’t even heard him. “You think you know what you’re doing? You think you can possibly salvage this?! You really think you’ll be better than Poppa?”

“Watch it—!”

“You will ruin that girl’s life!!”

“At least I didn’t kill her grandfather!”

Suddenly, there was an accident, another one, the police, and an orphanage. And hot, salty tears.

Drake thought he had finally lost his shadow when he found his light.

Apparently, he was wrong.

“Not now, Dive,” Drake snarled, fists clenched and red dots popping in and out of his vision as he knelt on the floor of the Muddlefoot’s home, his daughter missing and his memory restored. “Not. Ever.”

Drake Mallard did three things when he and Gosalyn went on the run: emptied his bank account, which caused quite a distress from his banker, and bought a trailer, the first one he found that would leave enough in his pocket for their trip to who-knows-where. The third thing, known only by the deep thoughts somewhere within his own mind, was lock away all the memories and trauma and stress under the pretenses of a silent, personal mental break, and threw away the key. His family gone, his life ruined, and his daughter threatened, Drake Mallard had done the only thing he could in order to survive: he forgot.

But now, he remembered.


	11. All the Eyes of St. Canard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fight begins.

“OW-OW-OW-OW!! Not so tight!”

“Shut up, Miss Pulitzer Prize!” a scratchy, deep voice hissed. “You got a problem with how I’m running things?”

There was a long silence that followed.

“That’s what I thought,” the kidnapper growled, turning away from the reporter and leaping off the platform.

They were near the front of DW Studio, and as Roxanne Dane tiptoed in that direction, she tried her best to identify the voice currently torturing her partner. Before the prime-time special Featherly had demanded the studio run, Roxanne had never heard the voice, or seen the crazy character who possessed it. She hadn’t gotten a very good look at the duck as he dragged Featherly out of the studio, past the guards and smoke, but she had mostly seen flashes of color, red and black and yellow, and enough of his silhouette to recognize the shape.

This madman, this “Phantom”, was a twin to Darkwing Duck.

With different colors.

Roxanne’s phone rung, and she nearly screamed, curling up against the wall and scrambling for her phone, pulling it out of her pocket. “Ugh, Jerry,” she growled, answering it. “What do you want Jerry-?”

 _“WHERE ARE YOU!?”_ the cameraman nearly screamed at her, voice breathless with panic.

“I’m at the studio,” the young woman replied, looking around.

_“No you’re not, because I’ve checked EVERYWHERE!”_

“Not _that_ studio, DW Studio! I’m…” gulping, the redhead curled back against the wall, ready to cover the phone when the young cat screamed at her with panicked scolding. “I went after Featherly.”

 _“ARE YOU NUTS?!”_ Jerry cried, at least having enough sense to lower his voice to a screaming whisper. _“Are you TRYING to get yourself killed?! Figured that maniac Darkwing needed another hostage?!”_

“I have to get Featherly out of here,” Roxanne argued. “And it’s not Darkwing!”

_“Then who is it?!”_

Roxanne frowned, pondering the answer for herself. Before she could answer, however, another voice drifted to her, and she frowned. “I have to go.”

_“NO- NONONONONO-!”_

Lifting herself up, the dog tiptoed for the end of the hallway, frowning when she came across a hole that had been torn in the thin wall. With a shrug, she climbed carefully through it, gasping at the sight before her.

“Let them go! This is absurd!” The protesting lady was a tall canary, who was tied to an old light stand, a redheaded teenager tied to the other side. Her hair hid her bowed head, clearly the teen was unconscious, but Roxanne would recognize that strawberry colored hair anywhere as Drake Mallard’s yellow-feathered daughter. Across the open space was that Darkwing duplicate, tightly tying an obese duck and a teenaged canary to a winged red motorcycle, the duck on the seat and the teen fastened to the side car. Between the two groups, was a raised circular platform, some seven or eight feet off the ground, on which Featherly was tied.

The Darkwing Duplicate had a red and black cape and cap, a yellow jacket, and red turtleneck underneath. He seemed both a twin and negative copy of Darkwing at the same time.

“Honestly, this is ridiculous,” Binkie continued to protest, lowering her voice. “My family has nothing to do with all of this! I insist you let us all go!”

“You better listen to her, Mr. Negaduck,” Honker whimpered to the caped duck near him, “she’s very smart you know.”

Ignoring them both, Negaduck stepped away from the ropes and gave the bike a good kick, the thing spurting and coughing to life. “There we go,” he smiled, twisting one of the handle bars and making the engine rev.

“Wha – what are you going to do with us?” the fat duck stammered.

“What, this old thing? Oh,” Negaduck patted the bike’s front affectionately, “don’t worry about going anywhere. This old thing’s only built to jump ahead about six feet, just enough to get out of frame, before dying.” The duck turned towards the others with a toss of his cape, striding several steps away before pausing long enough to excitedly glare back at his captives. “I’d be more worried about the engine blowing up underneath you. That thing always had a bad habit of over-heating if left running too long.”

Quickly tossed into panic, the two began to struggle against the ropes, Binkie gasping. “Oh honestly, there’s no need for any of this! We haven’t done anything to offend you, or get ourselves mixed up in this business!”

Stopping mid step, Negaduck turned to her, marched into her face, and let out a loud bark of laughter. “Darkwing Duck is public enemy number one in this town, and that makes all of his associates wanted criminals!” The canary blinked, confused, Negaduck marching around her and to the unconscious teenager tied to the other side of the thick, metal pole. “Someone has the clean up this rotten town!”

“Oh, if you touch even one hair on that little girl’s head-!”

A laugh rumbled out of Negaduck, throaty and deep. With a gentleness that was largely unpracticed, he lifted Gosalyn’s bangs out of her face, pinning them back with a pair of bobby pins he pulled off his sleeve. “Little girl?” he repeated with a softer, more honest chuckle. Then, as he searched Gosalyn’s face, a shadow passed over his features, and he forced himself backwards a step. “She’s no ‘little girl’ anymore. In fact,” he paced back in front of the lady, “I’d argue that my niece has never been a ‘little girl,’ not with that life that fool forced upon her.”

Stunned speechless, Binkie blinked at him. “Wait, your ‘niece’? So that means-!”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Negaduck replied, pulling his large hat and mask off his face in a chivalrous bow.

“Oh!” gasped Binkie, turning away from him quickly, her eyes shut in terror.

“Yeah,” growled the duck, putting the items back in place, “the family resemblance is uncanny, isn’t it?”

“I don’t see why you needed to involve the others,” Featherly groaned, her voice sharp with irritation.

“What’s wrong, Featherly?” asked Negaduck, pacing a few steps towards the platform, hands on his hips. “The news got you down?”

“It’s just that _I_ tend to think having five hostages is a bit redundant, wouldn’t you say?”

With a few cackles of laughter, Negaduck lifted himself onto the platform and circled slowly around the tied duck. “Oh, and here you thought this was all just for your own little moment in the spotlight, didn’t chya? Well guess what, sister,” leaning into Featherly’s face, Negaduck yelled at her, “THIS AIN’T YOUR SHOW ANYMORE!”

Then, the call of approaching sirens surrounded them, and Negaduck flinched, looking at the front door quickly. A slow smile stretched across his face, and he took his hat off, bowing again to Featherly and sweeping it out towards the door. “Well there’s your audience, m’lady. Try not to disappoint them!”

Ducking behind the set’s back wall, Roxanne frowned, trying to catch her breath. “’Your show anymore’?”

 

* * *

 

 

The police cars bumped up onto the curb, filling the sidewalk and street, surrounding the quiet building with a barricade of vehicles and officers. Chief Oxford Bully climbed out of his car, the captain of the SWAT team, an aged goat, crossing quickly to him as Bully approached the front of the barricade.

“Waiting for your orders, sir,” the goat saluted.

“Where’s Adder?” Bully frowned, the captain shifting his feet.

“He hasn’t reported yet, sir.”

Bully rolled his massive shoulders with a sigh, turning back to the troops around him. “Alright officers,” he addressed, the waves of blue and black going quiet. “This ‘Phantom’ character has got Miss Featherly as his personal hostage. At this point, all we know is that he’s armed and extremely dangerous…”

“That, Chief,” a voice called over the thick silence, “is an uncharacteristically upsetting understatement.”

Leaping out of the shadows that the streetlights painted across the adjacent building, Darkwing Duck marched into the barricade, his presence parting the sea of officers. Various mutters and jeers from the officers around him surrounded the duck like a dark cloud, but he kept his eyes focused on Bully, bill held high. Bully watched the purple-clad figure near him, and crossed his arms across his massive, round chest.

“What are you doing here?”

“Chief,” Darkwing crossed his arms as well, coming to a stop, “Negaduck is in there with more than just Miss Featherly. He’s got a group of civilians in there as well, and a teenager, the Muddlefoots and Gosalyn Mallard. If you let me…”

“Wait, wait,” Bully quickly uncrossed his arms, alarm beginning to rise in his voice, “Gosalyn is in there?”

Darkwing snarled at him with a small growl. “Yes, Chief, I just said that. Now, as I was saying, if you just let me—!”

“Drake,” Bully interrupted again, the duck under his hand freezing when the bull placed touched his shoulder, “stop.”

After a pause, his blue eyes wide and searching empty air around him wildly, Darkwing shook his head and slapped the hand off his shoulder, putting a quick step of space between himself and the chief. “Don’t stand in my way, Bully! I’m not letting Negaduck hurt those civilians, any of them, just because he’s calling me out!”

“Drake—!”

“And another thing! I’m _not_ Drake Mallard!” With a sigh, Darkwing dropped his heroic stance, addressing his old friend with a calmer, quiet voice. “I _can’t_ be. Drake Mallard is the one that got everyone into this mess and was too stupid to do anything about it. Negaduck,” he pulled his shoulders back and motioned to the building over Bully’s shoulder, “called out Darkwing Duck, so that’s who he’s going to get. He’s mad. Neither of us can risk what he’ll do to those hostages if he doesn’t get what he wants!”

Besides, Drake Mallard was currently shaking and sick with fear. Darkwing Duck, however, had no such emotional connections to the situations, and was able to think and act quickly, clearly, and decisively.

“Is it him?”

Darkwing aimed his eyes to the side, jaw clenched tightly.

“is it him?”

“It has to be.”

With a roll of his massive shoulders, Bully nodded. “I understand.”

“Good,” Darkwing replied, turning away from the Chief and striking his thinking pose. “First, we need to set up - HEY!”

Suddenly, police of all sizes were swarming Darkwing, grabbing his arms and holding him in place, the duck kicking and struggling. “What are you doing?! Let me go! Chief!”

His hands raised to calm the commotion, Bully stepped forward. Darkwing glared up at him, fire and pain in his eyes. “I understand that you seem as disillusioned as this ‘Negaduck’ character. Mask or no mask, cape or not, you are a civilian, ‘Darkwing Duck’, and I’m not letting a civilian go anywhere near that building.”

“But – but Chief!” Darkwing pleaded, his voice cracking as he yanked on his arms.

“And you’re my friend,” Bully added. “And your daughter is among the hostages. You’re already compromised, even if we could work together. My officers will handle this situation, without you, Darkwing Duck, just like they are trained to do.”

“But Oxford—!”

“You’re no hero, Drake!” Bully yelled, everyone within the barricade going quiet. A few beats passed before anyone moved, the blue and red lights rhythmically throwing shadows across their faces.

At last, a small moan escaped Bully, and he rubbed his eyes. Darkwing – Drake Mallard, his friend, the fellow student he had always admired and the duck he had always wanted fighting at his side, refused to look at him. His blue eyes were pointed elsewhere in a sharp glare. Under the streetlights and flashing sirens, Bully could see a glimmer of rejection and rage in them. He was shaking in the hands that held him, and Bully knew with dread that the wheels in his head were turning. “You’re not on the force, Drake. You’re not a cop, nor a detective, nor any kind of superhero. You’re just an actor.”

The Mallards had always been known for their tempers. It's what had gotten a lot of them killed.

Rage exploding out of him, Darkwing leapt into the air, throwing and kicking the circle of cops off him. He landed and drew his gas gun, pointing it up at Bully, who was already pointing his own down at the duck. They paused just long enough for St. Canard’s finest to catch up.

“Drake,” Bully hissed, “we don’t have time for—!”

“No, Oxford,” Darkwing growled back, “you’re right. We _don’t_ have time for your political playtime! We also _don’t_ have time to stand around arguing while those civilians and _my daughter_ are trapped in there with that madman! Negaduck has faked his own death before, he’s threatened Gosalyn, he’s driven my family out of the city, and now he’s back, kidnapping St. Canard's favorite reporter on national television, just to get my attention! He’s a madman, Oxford, but he’s like me, he’s _brilliant_ , and he’s awfully scary when he’s mad. There’s no telling what he’s already planning for those hostages, or what he’ll do to them if Darkwing Duck doesn’t swoop in to rescue them. I’m no hero,” Darkwing added, lifting his gun and pointing it upwards, stepping away from the Chief and putting his other hand in the air, “and I’m no cop, and I don’t carry a badge or special license letting me push others around, so if you want to arrest me and throw away the key, burry me so deep my own shadow won’t even find me, make an example of this old, loony actor that humiliated you and destroyed the reputation of this city, then _fine_! Arrest me! But I am _going_ after Gosalyn! And you need to either help me, or get out of my way, because there’s no way in this dimension or the next that you’re holding me back. It’s your choice, Ox.”

Bully’s eyes narrowed on the duck, searching the mask and steady glare. Finally, the Chief dropped his gun.

“Welcome to the force, Darkwing Duck.”

The grumbles immediately picked back up, and Dark’s eyes darted around the group, actively trying to watch every cop around him at once. “Good to know you’re still willing to do whatever the city needs, Chief. And thank you.”

“What the city needs,” Bully argued, Darkwing holstering his gun, “in this new world of mad man and villains, is someone in their own league.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Darkwing muttered, pushing past Bully and jumping onto the hood of the front most car, surveying the building he knew so well. “It’s not very often you have to break into your own palace,” he muttered, Bully looking at him curiously.

“What do you need?”

Darkwing spun around, staring down at Bully with an electrified, dare he say, exhilarated twinkle in his eye.

 

* * *

 

An idea formed, and Roxanne dug her phone back out of her pocket, nearly dropping it with a panicked yelp. Clutching the thing to her chest, the girl held her breath, waiting for someone to hear her, but when nothing happened, she slowly let her sigh back out. One of her shaking hands managed to unlock the device and call Jerry while she used to other to crawl around the corner of the wall.

“ _Roxanne_?” Jerry whispered, and Roxanne shushed him. Thankfully, he had accepted her video call.

“Jerry,” she whispered, turning the camera to show the action, “you need to see this. Everyone needs to see this.”

 

* * *

 

In the center of the space, Negaduck paced around in tight circles, crowbar clasped tightly in one hand. “What’s taking him so long?! He should be here by now!”

“Maybe Mr. Darkwing didn’t get your message,” Binkie suggested, Honker interrupting her quickly.

“No! He’ll be here! Darkwing Duck never lets criminals like you get – get away! He’ll save us!”

“Honker!” both parents scolded him, Negaduck turning around quickly, looking back and forth between the two.

“No! I’m – I can’t take this anymore! You both have been telling me to find what I’m passionate about and chase after it, and chase my dreams, my whole life, but then when I find something like that you just want to take it away!”

“Son!” Herb snapped, “that’s no way to talk to your me and your mother!”

“Oh, shut up, Herb,” Binkie grumbled, rolling her eyes. The other Muddlefoots gasped in shock, Negaduck continuing to glance back and forth between the family, confusion knotting his brow. “That’s right, you heard me! Our son is right! He has a passion for these kinds of things, Herb, something he loves doing! For the first time in his life, Honker is excited about something! But all you’ve ever done is try to throw it all away!”

“This is getting good,” Negaduck mumbled with a small smile, leaning on his crowbar. On the platform, Featherly rolled her eyes.

“B-but Binkums! I – I thought we both agreed he was getting too old for all this superhero stuff!”

While they argued on, Gosalyn let out a soft groan, giving her head a few gentle shakes. Slowly, reluctantly, she kicked her way back to consciousness.

“No, Herb dear, _you_ decided that it was time that our boy gave up the only thing he’s ever really found joy in! And all because you were intimidated by a cartoon character!”

“Ooooooh,” Negaduck flinched, looking at Herb with an almost sympathetic grimace. “You know, that might explain a few things,” he suggested, the three Muddlefoots turning on him.

“SHUT UP!”

“Whattha heck is …?” A frown pinching her face, Gosalyn looked around, her vision blurry. Then, she saw a figure in the distance, waving at her. “Roxanne Dane?”

Waving her arms around, Roxanne pantomimed to the teenager, explaining that she was recording the whole thing on her phone. She added that the police were outside, and Negaduck had attacked the crew at the news station, and had kidnapped Featherly.

 _“What are you doing?”_ Jerry frowned, Roxanne dropping her arms and glaring down at him.

“I’m telling her that you’re recording this!”

 _“Oh,”_ muttered Jerry. Rolling away from his desk, he looked at the live-feed monitors that lined the backwall, his many bosses standing over his shoulders. _“I’m not recording this. I’m live-streaming this. Roxanne_ ,” the girl’s cheek’s flushed red in a quick flash, _“you’re on the air.”_

Gosalyn tilted her head as Roxanne resumed waving her arms at her. She blinked.

“What?”

“I tried to be a good role model for him!” Herb was arguing from across the room.

“You forced him into sports,” Binkie almost laughed. “He hates sports!”

“I do,” Honker nodded.

“Honker!” Binkie gasped. “Don’t talk to your father like that!”

Suddenly, the bike rumbling beneath the two Muddlefoots backfired, the bang scaring the party.

Rushing the bike, Negaduck checked the dials on the front. He laughed at the results, patting it. “Haha, looks like you’re in the hot seat in two senses, fatso!”

“Oh, you monster!” Binkie cried. “Let them go! Please! Oh, Herb dear! Honker darling! Are you okay?!”

Turning slowly, Negaduck stared at Binkie, his eyes wide with confusion and shock and jaw slack.

“You were just yelling at blubberbrains up here like you were on opposite sides of the Fantasticbowl!”

“Oh, well,” Binkie giggled, the other family members laughing. “Of course we were caught up in a little bit of a spat, that’s just what a healthy family does.”

Her head lifting, Gosalyn glared at Negaduck over her shoulder suddenly, a snarling smirk stretched across her bill. “And would you look at that! Here comes Dad now to demonstrate.”

Suddenly, like a tiger, Darkwing Duck leaped up over Herb’s head, lunging down on Negaduck and tackling him to the center of the space. They flopped to a stop, Darkwing straddling Nega, who growled, punching Dark’s bill and kicking him off, Darkwing rolling out of the way of the crowbar attack and jumping up, flipping over Negaduck and onto his hands, back-flipping into the air and landing in a squat on the light fixture Gosalyn and Binkie were tied around, the thing giving the smallest of rattles under his precise weight.

The room erupted in cheers as Darkwing held the pose, Roxanne cheering as well.

“Woops!” she covered her mouth quickly, crawling back behind cover and marking sure the camera was still focused on the action. “Are you still getting this?!”

 _“Oh yeah,”_ Jerry laughed, the entire room behind him cheering. _“Oh yeah, I'm definitely getting this! Roxanne, say a few words!”_

“What?!” the lady stammered, sitting up and trying to make herself presentable. Then, seeing the caped crusader before her, she smiled. “Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of St. Canard, and believers and doubters everywhere…” aiming the camera, she zoomed in on the dark figure, cape flapping in some nonexistent wind and fedora bent low over his sharp glare, “… I’m Roxanne Rose Dane, reporting to you live from DW Studios, where we are all witnessing, for the first time in five years, the return… _of Darkwing Duck!”_

“GOSALYN!!” Darkwing roared suddenly, standing and leaning over the teenager, glaring down at her. “YOU RUINED MY ENTRANCE!”

“Sorry, Darkwing,” she shrugged, watching Darkwing step off the light and drop down before her. “But you know I can’t resist a good, snarky comeback.”

“It’s not a comeback,” Darkwing muttered, quickly untying her and Binkie, “if they aren’t talking to you!”

Roaring in rage, Negaduck appeared, swinging the crowbar at Darkwing’s head, him and Gosalyn ducking with a quick yelp, the bar denting the lighting pole.

“HEY!” the two Mallards snapped at him, Negaduck growling.

“SHUT UP!” he cried, standing on his tiptoes to tower over Darkwing.

“Good idea,” smirked Gosalyn. Leaning back on the pole, she kicked the masked mallard with both feet, sending him tumbling in Roxanne’s direction. The young reporter yelped and hid behind the wall.

“Nice kick, kiddo,” Darkwing smiled, standing and watching the other duck tumble and collide with a wooden brace in the thin plaster wall, the plaster collapsing on top of him. “But,” Darkwing hurried back to the knot in the ropes surrounding Gosalyn and Binkie, “we’ve got to get at least one of you lose so you can -!”

“No, wait!” Binkie cried, Darkwing circling in front of her quickly. “Drake – uh, I’m sorry, Darkwing, free Herb and Honker first, please!” Eyes darting from Binkie across the set to the other Muddlefoots, under whom the bike has begun to spark and smoke, Darkwing frowned.

“Right,” nodded the masked duck, stepping back around and handing Gosalyn his gas gun. “If Negaduck pokes his head back up, fire!”

“Got it,” the teen nodded, Darkwing hurrying around them and racing to the others.

He landed on the bike with a loud thump, the startled Herb screaming.

“Oh, button it,” Darkwing grumbled, stepping off the bike. “Hold this, kid.” Having placed his hat on Honker’s head as he dropped off the bike, Darkwing hit the ground and quickly crawling underneath the sputtering, spitting vehicle.

“What – what are you going to do, Mr. Darkwing, sir?” Honker asked, trying to shake the hat out of his eyes.

“This thing has an emergency engine kill safety for circumstances just like this – rats!” Crawling out, Darkwing swiped his fedora back, planted it on his head, and began searching for the knot in the ropes. “Negaduck broke the safety. I’ve got to get you untied and off this thing!”

Hearing Herb yelp, Darkwing poked his head back up from checking the underside of the bike.

“Uuuuh, Mr. Darkwing, sir?” Herb stammered, eyes on the flashing and blinking dials and buttons on the dashboard in front of him. “Is it supposed to be doing that?”

Darkwing leaped onto the bike and up over Herb, dropping into the obese duck’s lap as he scanned the dashboard. “DOUBLE RATS! Okay – okay… think, think, think, thiiiiiiink…!” with one pound of his fist into his head, the correct cogs clicked together, and an idea formed. “Aha! Mrs. Muddlefoot! The crowbar!”

Binkie searched the ground for minute, finally spotting the discarded tool. With a grunt, she spun the lighting post around, Gosalyn yelping at her as she lost her aim in Negaduck’s direction. Despite her high heels, the canary hooked the metal bar with one foot, pulled it closer, and kicked it, sending it bouncing and flying In Darkwing’s direction.

“Nice kick!” Darkwing cheered, scooping up the crowbar and leaping over the hitch between the sidecar and the bike.

“Wait, what now?” Honker stammered, twisting around to watch the scene. “What are you doing now?!”

“Kid,” Darkwing grunt back, wrestling with the bar he had jammed into the hitch, “no questions, please!”

Finally, the hitch shattered, Darkwing tumbling into the sidecar, which zoomed ahead. “Steer it!” Darkwing called, but it was too late, the screaming Honker and sidecar turned crashing into the bottom of the raised platform.

“Hey!” Featherly snapped, the whole platform shaking underneath her. “Knock it off down there!”

“Sorry, Miss Featherly!” Darkwing replied, flinching at the sound of Herb’s voice.

“You’re – you’re going to get me off of this thing, aren’t yah, M-Mr. Darkwing, sir?” the obese duck stammered, watching Darkwing grunt and shove against the bike, slowly turning it.

“Suuure, Mr. Civilian,” Darkwing rolled his eyes, “I’ll get you off!” Stepping back, and checking to see if the bike was lined up with the front doors of the set, which Negaduck had boarded up with some old wooden planks, Darkwing leaned one elbow on the bike, watching the dials spin and flash at him. “In about five…”

Raising their voices, the group protested, pleading with him to save Herb, but the masked mallard ignored them, glancing at his wrist watch just to further exasperate them.

“Four… three… two… have a nice trip, neighbor!” Hitting a small button on the handlebar, the brakes were unlocked, and the bike shot forward, crashing through the barricade and smashing down the front doors, bumping and speeding down the front steps of the studio and screeching to a halt steps away from Bully. Herb screamed in utter panic the entire time, and even after he stopped, but was otherwise unharmed.

“Welp,” Darkwing dusted off his hands and pivoted around to his stunned audience. “That’s one hostage free.”

“One of five,” Negaduck growled, Darkwing flinching. The shorter duck was on the platform, his crowbar to Featherly’s neck. “Are we supposed to be impressed?”

Growling, Darkwing tossed his cape behind him and squared off, ready for a fight. “Let her go, Negaduck! Actually, while we’re on the subject, let them all go! I’m the one you want!”

“Everyone seems to think they know what I want more than I do,” growled the yellow-clad duck, shoving Featherly out of his hold and stepping off the platform. He landed next to Honker on the sidecar, drawing a startled cry from the teen, but ignored him and stepped off that as well, stalking over to the other duck. “Negaduck do this, Negaduck do that! Well I’m sick and tired of it! No one knows me better than I do!”

“Think again, evil-doer!” cried Gosalyn, shooting the smoke pellet, which hit the platform and exploded, swallowing the group in a thick plume of smoke. “Hah,” the teen laughed at herself, twirling the gun around her finger, “totally knew he was going to do that.”

Beaming proudly at his daughter, Darkwing turned his gaze back to Negaduck, tightening the fedora with a double-handed yank. Running forward, Darkwing tumbled into the smoke cloud, waiting for Negaduck to reveal himself.

He did with a cough, turning in Gosalyn’s direction. “Why you little -!”

“Leave her out of this, Negajerk!” demanded Darkwing, landing a solid double kick to Negaduck’s shoulder blades, knocking him both off course and off his feet. “This is between us!”

Tossing his cape from over his head, Negaduck grinned up at the other, drawing the crowbar. “Fine by me!”

With a growl, Negaduck charged and swung the tool at Darkwing a few times, who dodged and rolled out of the way, putting some distance between them. With a grin, Negaduck ducked back into the smoke, Darkwing panicking for a second before chasing after him, searching the cloud.

All was silent and still as the purple smoke swirled around him, blocking all noise and movement. Then, he heard a muffled grunt from over his shoulder, and Darkwing spun around, watching Negaduck sail past him. With a stunned blink, Darkwing headed the opposite direction, barely bringing his arms up in time to block another double-footed kick from Gosalyn.

“Ah!” she yelped, “Sorry Darkwing!”

“Don’t mention it,” he smirked, flipping her ponytail. Pausing, he noted the bobby pins in her bangs with a small frown, Gosalyn blinking up at him.

“Darkwing?”

Darkwing shook his head and snapped back to reality. “Nothing, kiddo,” he smiled and ran around them quickly, finally undoing the knot. He addressed Binkie first, taking her hand and helping her step over the pile of rope she was wiggling out of. “Are you okay, Mrs. Muddlefoot?”

“Oh!” throwing her arms around Dark’s shoulders suddenly, Binkie giggled. She pulled back with a smile, straightening her clothes. “I sure am, Darkwing, darling, thank you!”

“Hehe,” Darkwing chuckled, stepping slowly away from her. “Gosalyn – oomph!” Darkwing was instantly ready to throw the arms around his neck off, but stopped, realizing it was his baby. He hugged her back quickly, burying his bill in her shoulder. “Haha, heya kiddo. You okay?” Pulling them apart, Darkwing checked the teen’s face, eyes darting back and forth between her own green ones.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” she swatted his hands off and hugged him again.

“Good! ... Good. You scared me, getting yourself kidnapped like that all over again, Gossy.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I tried to fight them.”

“I know you did, but it’s okay now. Gos,” he pulled them apart and caught Gosalyn’s eyes in his own, “I need you to get the other Middlefoots out of here. Bully is outside, and tell him - LOOK OUT!” Shoving Gosalyn aside, Darkwing grunted, tackled around the waist by Negaduck. Both ducks bouncing back into the cloud, which began to dissipate as they wrestled. First to get his feet under him, Negaduck grabbed Darkwing by the shoulders and threw him into the concrete ground. He pulled the crowbar back and cracked Darkwing open with it several times, his other hand pinning Darkwing in place by his collar.

“Let him go—!” Gosalyn screamed, but Binkie caught her, wrestling to keep the teen away from the fight.

“Let him go!” Honker pleaded, flinching and screwing his eyes shut at the sickening sounds.

“STOP IT, PLEASE!”

With renewed strength, Darkwing finally kicked Negaduck off. While the shorter duck stumbled away, the air having been kicked out of him, Darkwing rolled onto his stomach and hacked a wet, bloody cough. Dots of crimson splattered over the floor, and Darkwing groaned, cradling his bleeding head in his hands. Gosalyn’s stitches over the earlier opening in his head had been torn open, the crack in his bill was bleeding anew, and red flooded one eye like a lens. Darkwing took a deep breath, checking for further damage as he did so, and blew the blood out of his nostrils before it could seep down his throat. Clear and able to breathe again, the purple-clad duck sat back and glared murder at Negaduck.

Panic bringing her back to life, Gosalyn grabbed Binkie’s hand and pushed her towards the front doors.

“Get out of here!” she ordered.

“But – Honker!”

“I’ll get him!” the teen replied. “You heard my dad, the police are waiting outside! GO!”

Binkie paused, looking around the scene frantically, her eyes landing on Gosalyn. The girl was shaking, but it wasn’t with fear, it was with energy. Rage. She looked so much like her father in that moment, eyes ablaze with emotion and power, and fists clenched, the sight of it gave Binkie a kind of bravery she had never felt before. Nodding, she rushed the teen, who flinched as Binkie hugged her suddenly. Pulling back, she kissed the top of Gosalyn’s head, giving her shoulders a squeeze.

“You go be a hero,” she smiled, running for the front doors. Stunned, Gosalyn watched her, absently rubbing the top of her head where the kiss had been left. Then, a loud crack from behind her jolted her to action, and she spun around.

Negaduck had swung his crowbar down at Darkwing, who had tumbled out of the way. The two ducks continued to fight as Gosalyn sprinted past them, Negaduck swinging his crowbar down onto Dark, who dodged at the last second, leaping up and bringing his fist under Negaduck’s chin.

“Gosalyn!” Honker yelped as Gosalyn reached him.

“Don’t worry, Honkman,” the redhead smiled, looking around for the knot to his bindings, “I’m getting you out of here!”

“But – but what about Darkwing?”

Flinching, they both spin around, watching Darkwing stumble for them, collapsing a few steps away.

“DARKWING!” The teens screamed, Negaducks’s head snapping in their direction. Growling, he charged, Gosalyn kicking her feet out into a fighting pose. Before Negaduck could reach her, however, Darkwing appeared, blocking the flying kick and shoving Negaduck backwards.

“Your momma was an egg snatcher! Your momma was an egg snatcher!” he sang, wiggling his hips, hands flapping at his temples like rabbit ears.

“SHE WAS NOT!” roared Nega, Darkwing yelping and fleeing in the opposite direction. Negaduck chased after him, crowbar raised above his head with a battle cry.

Blinking, Gosalyn turned back to Honker, offering him a shrug. “He can take care of himself.”

“RATS!”

At the sound of the voice, everything stopped, Negaduck and Darkwing frozen where they were, Honker and Gosalyn frowning at each other.

Then, a small gasp from the same direction, and all heads turned, seeing Roxanne Dane sitting at the corner of the set, her phone pointed at them.

“… Hi.”

“NO!!” Negaduck roared, dropping his pursuit and charging after the reporter, who scrambled to her feet and disappeared behind the back of the set.

“DIVER!” Darkwing called, running a few steps after him. “Gosalyn-!” he turned to the teen, rushing her. “Get them out of here, both of them!”

“Don’t worry about us!” she nodded, a smile stretching across Darkwing’s bloody face, quickly kissing her forehead. “Just - just come back alive!”

“I love you,” Darkwing called, chasing Negaduck. “Oh, and don’t come back!”


	12. St. Canard, City of Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The showdown begins. And Featherly reveals all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy almost Thanksgiving!
> 
> We're still in the thick of it. Honestly, these few chapters are my favorites. I love the fight. It's so good.

Around the back of the Darkwing Tower set was another set, tucked away among the honeycomb of sets that the show used frequently. Darkwing couldn’t see which set this was, this end of the large tarp covering the skylight that stretched across the building was still in place, blocking most of the light, but he didn't need light to know exactly where he was. Drake Mallard had built this building with his bare hands – with him and his brother’s bare hands - and absolutely no one knew this place better than the both of them. Though Drake had always considered this knowledge one of their best assets in the past, now, something in the hero wished this part of his brother’s mind had cracked beyond use.

But something else inside him told him he would never be so lucky.

This set was the outside of Darkwing Tower, with the long, thick bridge support cables that he – that Diver used to perform impossible bike tricks on, riding the Ratcatcher up and down the cables to and away from the secret superhero base. Almost two stories above his head was the entrance to the tower piece, with the front two sides decorated to resemble Audubon Bridge, large windows leading to the platform behind it. The tower was big enough to fit Diver, the Ratcatcher, and a few cameras and various other operators, but not much bigger. The side hidden from the floor cameras was open and hollow and a few safety bars stretched across the scaffolding pretending to make the whole thing safe.

Tiptoeing around, Darkwing listened and searched the thick darkness for any signs of the others. Then, a ringtone, and his head swiveled to the top of the tower piece. Of course she would have hidden in one of the most dangerous places in the building.

With a yelp, Roxanne ducked out of the window and curled up in the corner of the tower, scrambling to dig her phone out of her pocket.

“Jerry!” she hissed. “What do you want?!”

_“Roxanne -! Are you okay?!”_

“I told you I'm at the studio!”

 _“I know that!”_ Stressed, the feline pulled at his shaggy hair, _“but what happened?”_

“I’m HIDING!”

“Not anymore,” Negaduck laughed, revving the engine of the old stunt Ratcatcher. The bike was on the track, ready to speed up the cable and claim the scared journalist. “Race you, Dweebwing!” Negaduck cackled, revving the engine and racing to the top.

“Oh no you don’t!” Darkwing growled. Charging forward, he leaped up and landed on the front of the bike, stuffing Negaduck’s own hat into his face.

“HEY-!” the other duck cried, swatting and clawing at Darkwing.

“You should really wear your helmet during stunts,” the older duck clicked his tongue. “I figured you’d know that!” Turning to face forward, Darkwing jumped off the bike and soaring through the window, the bike jerking off course. It fell off the cable and crashed into the tower below the windows, falling to the ground far below with a loud metal crash. Having tumbled to a painful stop in the tower, Darkwing rushed back to the window, searching the burning, twisted wreck desperately. There was no sign of Negaduck.

“That’s – that’s fire!” Roxanne stammered, quickly hurrying to Darkwing’s side.

“It won’t spread,” the duck coughing, pushing off the window sill. He made it just a few steps towards the back of the tower before he collapsed, coughing and gripping his side tightly.

“Darkwing!” Roxanne yelped, but the caped-duck brushed her hands off and forced himself to his feet.

“Just lost my breath,” he lied, hurrying to the back of the platform and finding the trapdoor that lead to the stairwell inside the structure. “Everything on these sets are fire resistant, so the fire won’t spread.” Kicking though the door with a loud splinter of old wood, Darkwing motioned Roxanne over, helping her through the hole. “But _we’re_ not, so we need to get out of here!”

“NO-! No, go save Featherly!” the lady argued, shoving Darkwing off her. Stunned, he stared back.

“I’m trying to save your life, here!”

“I – I know that, but – I mean come on, she’s Portia Featherly! _The_ Portia Featherly!”

 

* * *

 

 

“I’m _the_ Portia Featherly!” the green duck yelled, thrashing around in the ropes wrapped around her. “Now get me out of here!”

Rolling her eyes, Gosalyn helped Honker out of the sidecar, the teen tripping and falling into her arms over the ropes.

“Easy there, kid,” she laughed, straightening the taller canary.

“Thanks,” he smiled, readjusting his glasses and blushing heavily. Gosalyn pretended not to notice.

“Your parents are outside with Chief Bully,” Gosalyn reported, climbing on the side car and stepping to the platform. “Go!”

“But – Gosalyn! Aren’t you coming?!”

“I have to get Miss Algae Face free,” Gosalyn nodded to the journalist, who gasped loudly.

“Darkwing will save her,” Honker argued, tugging on Gosalyn’s jacket. “We need to get out of here! He can handle it!”

“Honker-! My dad isn’t a hero! Okay? He can’t save everyone, _I’ve_ saved more people than he has!”

Stunned, Honker stepped back, staring up at her in horror. “But – he’s fighting Negaduck!”

“Honker,” Gosalyn growled, spinning to the other teen, “that’s all he _can_ do! He’s stalling so we can get out of here, now go!”

“But Gosalyn,” the canary chirped, stepping forward.

_“Honker!”_

“He’s your uncle!”

 

* * *

 

 

“WOAH!” Darkwing yelped, grabbing and yanking Roxanne out of the stairwell before the tower’s swaying could knock her off her feet and over the rail. “That crash most have loosened the scaffolding!”

Then, both flinched when the overhead sprinklers kicked on, showering them in heavy, putrid water.

“Gross,” Roxanne muttered, shaking the liquid off her. “This stuff smells like rust!”

 

* * *

 

“Oh great,” Featherly grumbled as Gosalyn worked to untie her. “Ruined plans for greatness _and_ a bad hair day!”

Stepping away from the other duck, Gosalyn frowned, sniffing the water she caught on her open palm.

“THIS ISN’T WATER!” both Mallards exclaimed in unison, Gosalyn shoving Featherly near the edge of the platform while Darkwing yanked himself and Roxanne away from the windows.

As soon as the gasoline rainfall pooled underneath the flames coming from the wrecked bike, the mangled mess of metal and plastic exploded, the blast sending waves of energy up the tower, which swayed at the shock.

“WINDOW!” Darkwing cried, grasping Roxanne’s hand and pulling her forward, climbing out of the window quickly and up the ornate façade.

“Up?” Roxanne stammered, blocking the liquid from getting in her eyes.

“Yes!” the duck cried back, tossing down his hat to protect her face. “Up! Trust me!”

“I always have,” the dog smiled, kicking off her high heels and climbing out after him, the purple fedora on her head.

 

* * *

 

“There,” Gosalyn smiled, helping Featherly untangle the coil of rope from around herself. “You’re-!”

Suddenly, the reporter slapped the teenager across the face, grabbing the gas gun, yanking it out of Gosalyn’s hands, and pointing it at her. “Am I supposed to be grateful? You’ve ruined everything!”

Above them, Darkwing and Roxanne reached the catwalks that stretched back and forth across the ceiling, the caped duck pulling the reporter up over the railings and onto the platform. From their height, they could see over the wall and into the other set, overhearing the argument.

“Gosalyn!” Darkwing yelped, running to the rail when he saw Featherly pointing the gun at his daughter.

Oblivious to them, and Roxanne’s always ready phone, Featherly continued. “I had it all planned out! It was perfect! ‘Daring Reporter Kidnapped by Madman, Defies Odds and Escapes!’ I was going to be a legend!!”

With a quick rattle for warning, the catwalk shook and dropped several feet from under Darkwing and Roxanne, tossing them to the floor. Pulling himself over the railing, Darkwing quickly spotted Negaduck at the controls, laughing at them.

“Featherly!” Roxanne called, running ahead on the platform and over the fellow reporter’s head, “Call Negaduck off! He’s going to kill us! I – I thought we were colleagues! Friends!”

Pausing to think for a second, Featherly hummed to herself. “You know what,” she called up to Roxanne, “you’re right. We are colleagues. And your death would be stupendous sympathy points! Nega: make them old news!”

“What,” Negaduck grunted, wrestling with the rusty and slippery crank in his hands, “do you think I’m trying to do?!”

Stunned with confusion, Darkwing waved his hands before himself, bringing all activity to an abrupt halt. “Wait – wait – wait – wait – wait! _Featherly_ is the one behind this?! _You’re_ the one behind this?!”

“I always said he was a fool, but this-!” the duck muttered to Gosalyn, who growled at her. “Don’t be so surprised, Darkwing! Who else in this city would possibly get involved with that idiot and his stupid plans?”

“Sure,” the teen spat, “everyone else in the city has a conscious!”

Growling, Featherly swung the gun at Gosalyn, who easily dodged it, slipping the weapons from Featherly’s hands and into her own, pointing it at the reporter.

“What the-?” the green duck gasped, snarling at Gosalyn. “Give that back to me!”

“YEAH!” Darkwing cheered on the catwalk far above their heads. “THAT’S MY BABY GIRL!”

“Daaaaaaad!” Gosalyn whined, adjusting her grip on the slick gun and blinking the gasoline out of her eyes. “NOT THE TIME!”

“But Gosalyn,” Darkwing whined back, “I _loooooove_ you!”

“Ugh! I LOVE YOU TOO DAD!”

Up on the platform, Roxanne yelped as Darkwing fainted, small hearts dancing in his vision.

Then, the platform jolted again, and Roxanne leaned over the rails. “Featherly! Please!”

“We need to move,” Darkwing commanded, on his feet and prying her from the railing by gentle hands on her hips.

Roxanne struggled back, keeping tight grip on the railing. “But – but – Featherly! I don’t believe her!”

“HOT BELGIAN WAFFLES!!” screamed Darkwing, stomping on the catwalk and roaring, his head tossed back and fists at his sides. Roxanne stumbled off her feet and blinked up at him, her face mostly covered by the oversized fedora. “What is _with you_ and trying to leap onto the tracks for that woman?! She’s trying to _kill us_!!”

Stunned, Roxanne blinked up at him, offering a hesitant shrug. “Because she’s… Featherly?”

“Sister,” sighed the hero, offering his hand and pulling Roxanne to her feet, “take it from an old pro: the bigger someone says they are the further away you run.”

“HAH!” The entire platform shook as Negaduck landed on it, Darkwing stepping between him and Roxanne. “That’s the only thing you ever were an expert at, you cannibalistic clutz!”

“Get out of here, Miss Dane,” growled the purple-clad duck, gripping the corners of his cape, realizing he had no weapons.

“But-!”

“GET OUT OF HERE!” Yelping, Darkwing straightened-halfway and turned to the dog, who pressed his fedora back onto his head.

“You’re going to need all the help you can get,” she smiled. Taking his hand, she grasped it tightly. “Good luck!”

Watching her run down the rest of the catwalk, getting to the ladder on the other end and beginning her descent, Darkwing grumbled to himself.

“So much confidence in me today… Now, Negaduck…”

The two stood for a moment, glaring and growling at each other. They were both tired, the energy of the previous fight beginning to wear thin. They were both injured, blood still leaked from the crack in Dark’s bill and the multiple wounds on his head throbbed with every heartbeat. Negaduck was smaller than him, but not by much, not enough to really notice, but he was deadly. Quick, ruthless, and precise. Diver Mallard had been the best stunt duck in the business, and his fighting skills could over shadow Drake’s own any day.

It made Drake wonder why his younger brother hadn’t killed him yet.

“You’ve planned this all out,” Darkwing began. “Ever since the second accident, staging your own death, you’ve been planning and waiting.”

“It’s like I said,” Negaduck grinned, “I’ve been busy. Guess it took me awhile. You would have formed this plan in ten minutes. In fact, I’m sure you’ve already got half a dozen ways of beating me, getting yourself, the kid, and the duck out of here in one piece.”

“You were brilliant yourself, in different ways. You always were.”

“I was only ever an imitation of the real thing. All I ever was was your shadow! The left overs!”

“You want me dead for how I treated you. Stole from you.”

“’Dead’ would be an understatement. This isn’t just about me. It’s about what you do to that girl, too. You’re so much like Poppa.”

“I did it because I was trying to repair what you broke. Fix the damage if I could, as much as I could.”

“Hah! And look what it got her!”

“… One of us isn’t going to walk away from this, will we?”

His smile stretching even further, Negaduck chuckled. “Who said it will be that many?”

Pulling his hat on tightly with a yank, Darkwing tossed his cape behind his shoulders and readied.

“Then let’s get **dangerous**.”


	13. St. Canard, City of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a long battle, it all finally ends. And someone won't survive.

“I’m getting out of here!” Featherly coughed, the fire and fumes from the gasoline beginning to suffocate the two. She lunged at Gosalyn and grabbed her in a headlock, a move that would normally by game ending on anyone else. But for Gosalyn, it was about as dangerous as a pillow fight with her dad in a crummy motel room.

Though, to be fair, those did have a way of getting very dangerous.

“Oh really?” she skated around Featherly on the liquid puddles, smirking at the other duck after slipping quickly and easily from the headlock. “Are you sure about that?”

Growling, Featherly swung a clumsy punch at Gosalyn, who crossed her arms and dodged it.

“Missed me. Over here. Nope, this way. Oooooh…” groaning, Gosalyn peering over the fallen Featherly, whose high heels had slipped on the gas, “talk about breaking news.”

Enraged, her green feathers almost turning red, Featherly lunged at Gosalyn, who shouldered her, knocking them both to the edge of the platform.

“This just in,” Gosalyn coughing, pulling herself off Featherly and away from the edge, “’Local Teen Kicks Honored Citizen’s Butt’!”

“Oh,” laughed Featherly, aiming the gun she had swiped from Gosalyn at the redhead, “are you sure about that?”

“NO!” Gosalyn yelped, ducking Featherly shot, the flare speeding up over her head and spinning and twirling around the enclosed studio. “Are you _crazy_?!” The teen hauled Featherly to her feet. “Everything in this place is soaked with gas!”

Then, an explosion, the metal catwalk above their heads moaning. Gosalyn dropped the other duck and spun around, searching the ceiling desperately. “No - DAD!!”

 

* * *

 

On the catwalk, Darkwing kicked gas into Negaduck’s eyes, who roared, swinging blindly back and forth. Darkwing dodged the swings, slipped on the gas and hurtled into the railing. He hit it with a sharp cry, the pain exploding from his ribs knocking the breath out of him and bringing the duck to his knees. In the lull, Darkwing winded and stunned and Negaduck blinded, they both stopped and panted, the air around them growing steadily thicker and more poisonous with every dry cough. Darkwing watched Negaduck struggle to clean the gas out of his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” the purple-clad duck found himself saying, Negaduck glaring up at him.

“You’re what?!”

Darkwing backpedaled a step, averting his eyes.

Suddenly, Negaduck was there, grabbing his collar and roaring at him, having yanked the taller mallard to his feet. “LOOK ME IN THE EYE WHEN YOU LIE TO ME!!”

Darkwing gasped, the heavily burnt, distorted face of his brother inches away from his own. Burns covered a good portion of Diver’s face and bill, his black stripes practically glowing against his white skin and feathers. With one shove, Darkwing separated them, each duck stumbling in opposite directions.

The fire Drake thought he had lost his little brother to hadn’t been a big one, not like this, but there hadn’t been a sign left by the duck to indicate life afterwards. The car wreck had been almost immediately after Diver learned that Drake had adopted that Waddlemeyer girl, and Diver had been out of his mind with rage and betrayal, and all evidence that Bully and his officers found was that the old clunker Diver drove had finally broken down, the Mallard had lost control, and hadn’t escaped the vehicle before the explosion. It was so hot and so sudden, that even if he had escaped, it wouldn’t have been a clean getaway. That’s what Bully had told Drake, who agreed to let them close the case. His little brother was dead, but at least Gosalyn was safe.

Part of him always doubted his own sense of reason, however. Diver, after all, _was_ the best stunt duck in the business.

Negaduck spit at Darkwing and replaced his hat and mask. He readied his crowbar and swung at Darkwing, who dodged the blows with slower, heavier movements. Then, one side of the platform dropped, and the smaller, thrashing duck tumbled over the railing with a scream.

“Gotchya!” hissed Darkwing, fist full of Negaduck’s cape, stretched over the railing. “Don’t you go and die on me again!”

Gagging and adjusting the cape around his neck, Negaduck yelped at the sight of flames far below him, looking up at Darkwing with a snarl. Before he could insult the older duck, however, they both flinched, looking quickly at the flare spinning through the air.

“Whattha-?”

Then, the flare hit the catwalk’s bracing to the wall, exploding in a wave of heat and flames.

“WOAH!” Both Mallards were knocked sideways, Darkwing tumbling to the metal grating under his feet, dropping the cape. Negaduck, before he fell too far, hooked the catwalk with his crowbar, slipping half way down the tool’s slick length.

“Oh rats,” muttered Darkwing, watching the flames chase after them on the soaked catwalk. Deciding it was past time to execute one of his dozen escape plans, the caped duck jumped onto the railing opposite of the other duck, feet nearly slipping off it. Righting himself, he focused on the tarp that hung between the skylight and the sprinklers, and was so far untouched by the fire and gas. He readied to jump, hoping he could make it, when he heard a small grunt from behind him. Negaduck, now gripping the crowbar with two hands, slid to the bottom of the tool, ready to fall to the flames below.

Darkwing glared down at him, and turned back around, ready to leap.

At least Gosalyn would be safe.

 

* * *

 

Negaduck could feel the catwalk shake with the other duck's movements, and let his eyes close. The smoke was slowly blinding him and the fumes suffocating and he didn’t have the strength to pull himself back up the crowbar to the relative safety of the catwalk. All this planning, and this is how he would end: consumed with the flames he had already escaped twice before. Two car accidents, two fires. Two victims. First it was the old man, and second, it was Diver Mallard. Without another word, Negaduck slid off the crowbar and fell, something snagging his wrist and yanking painfully on his shoulder.

Negaduck snarled and shook his eyes open, realizing Darkwing had grabbed his wrist and was hanging on the outside of the catwalk to reach him.

“Let me—!”

“Shut up and let me save your life before we kill each other properly!” hissed the hero, and Negaduck scowled, but shut his beak.

With a small grunt, Negaduck grabbed Darkwing’s wrist with his other hand, climbing up and over the purple-clad hero as Dark lifted him, Nega flopping over the rail and pulling Dark over top it as well. They both panted, spitting gas out of their mouths and coughing dry, ashy coughs.

Gosalyn needed all the family she had left.

Behind them, the railing between themselves and the tarp was licked up by flames, both Mallards leaping away from it with a small yelp.

“This was your big plan?!” Negaduck snapped, watching his older brother look around desperately, the fume-poisoned cogs in his brain painfully pounding together a solution. “Letting us roast up here together instead of apart?!”

“Your cape!”

“What?” the shorter duck blinked, stunned.

“Give me your—" Darkwing coughed, wiping the gas and blood off his bill, “give me your cape!”

Negaduck hadn’t noticed how much his brother was bleeding before. Covering his face with his elbow, Negaduckcoughed a few times. “W-why?!”

“Because you were a stunt duck! That costume can only be made—” the platform shook, nearly knocking them both off their feet, “—with prints that were locked in my office, which was untouched until Gosalyn knocked the lock off a few days ago, long after the fire and long after you were ‘caught’ on those cameras sneaking into this place in one of the old Darkwing costumes, _hence_ what you’re wearing now is one of the original Darkwing Stunt suits, and since we’re different sizes and you were the stunt double, yours came with some extra padding and was built to be liquid _and_ fire resistant, _so give me your cape_!”

Snarling, not because of the logic his brother had always been good at, but because of the extra level of vulnerability he’d have after losing the layer, Negaduck unclipped it from his collar and handed it to Darkwing. Darkwing immediately tossed the fabric over the burning rail, spreading it out to get maximum coverage.

“Okay,” he coughed, patting away the few flames that licked at his sleeves, “aim for the tarp! It’s not soaked in gas yet!”

Looking that way, Negaduck snapped at Dark, motioning to it. “You’ve _got_ to be kidding! There’s no way _anyone_ can make that jump!”

“There’s no way anyone should be able to ride a tail-heavy motorcycle up a suspension bridge reconstruction either, _and yet here we are_!”

“But Drake—!”

“You’re a lot lighter without your cape,” Darkwing placed his hand on Negaduck’s shoulder, who swatted it away, “and you’re the best stunt duck in the city, Dive! NOW JUMP! AFTER THREE!!”

Looking at the tarp, Negaduck took the deepest breath he could among the gas and smoke, him and Darkwing backing up against the opposite railing. “One – two –”

“You’re jumping too!” Negaduck snapped, glaring at Darkwing. “If you think you’re pulling some ‘superhero’ bull—!”

The purple-clad duck scoffed at him. “You think I want to—” more coughs and a sharp groan, “die here? Now, after three! One – two – three - JUMP!!”

On the command, Negaduck charged two steps forward, jumped up onto the railing, and leaped. He could feel the catwalk creak and bend behind him, but focused on the tarp he was rapidly approaching. Reaching it, his hands griped the fabric by the fistfuls, which ripped loose from its old hooks and dropped him. Negaduck cursed as he swung out over the flames and smoke, but remained in the air. The hooks on the other end of the tarp had held true and he was safely hanging far above the flames.

Hesitantly, he opened his eyes, collecting himself and his new surroundings quickly. “HAH! ‘Best stunt duck in the city’ my tail! I’m the best stunt duck in the whole gosh-darn business!”

Then, when no one argued with him, Negaduck frowned, looking around more carefully.

His older brother was not with him.

“Drake?! DRAKE!!”

The catwalk groaned again and caught his attention, Negaduck quickly spotting the purple duck on it. Darkwing pitched forward at the movement, collapsing to his hands and knees as the platform shook, coughing and hacking, the air around him now completely poisoned. Blood came up with the coughs, gurgling out of Darkwing’s lungs. The idiot must have cracked a rib or punctured a lung or something else equally stupid at some point.

Knowing Drake, it was probably both.

“DRAKE YOU _KNOB!!”_

His brother didn’t hear him, and the catwalk dropped several more feet, knocking the exhausted duck to the metal grating, what air he had captured being knocked out of him with a painful thud.

With another snarl, Negaduck began to climb up the tarp. “DON’T YOU DARE DIE ON ME BEFORE I GET THE CHANCE TO KILL YOU MYSELF!”

 

* * *

 

Hearing the commotion, Gosalyn, who was busy chasing after Featherly up the fire escape stairs on the far side of the building, paused, spotting Darkwing collapsed on the catwalk.

“DADDY!!”

“Hah!” Featherly laughed. “That idiot is going to get himself killed!”

“HEY!” Leaping up and off the railing, Gosalyn landed before Featherly, blocking her path to the roof. “That’s Mr. Idiot to you, sister!”

“Oh whatever!” Shoving past Gosalyn, Featherly continued to race up the stairs.

“We’re going the same direction anyway!”

 

* * *

 

The sound of glass shattering filled the space above Darkwing’s head, muffled slightly by the smoke and roaring flames approaching him from all sides. Aiming his eyes up, he spotted Negaduck beating the skylight with his crowbar and climbing through the hole he tore into it and onto the roof.

A small smile stretched across his dirty, throbbing bill as Darkwing dropped down, exhausted. “I’m – sorry,” he wheezed out, tears and various other poisons burning his eyes. “Gosalyn… I’m sorry.”

Breathing was no longer an option. The rib he had cracked when he landed in the Tower set had finally poked a lung when he threw himself desperately over the railing to catch Negaduck. He could feel one lung slowly drown, the blood mixing with the fumes and ash already coating his insides. He gurgled up more blood and let the tears that were trying in vain to wash out his eyes fall. Heat surrounded him as both rails were covered with flames, and he knew the floor he laid on, helplessly to lift himself off, would be next.

He needed to do something. He needed to survive. He had beaten the dementia this round. He had beaten the insanity known to plague the Mallard bloodline, only forgetting portions of his life as compromise. But even those had returned to him. He even had his brother, or a shell of him, back.

Then again … he remembered the bobby pins.

Diver deserved one more miracle. They all deserved one more miracle.

 

* * *

 

Racing across the skylight and in Darkwing’s direction, Negaduck froze, the glass beneath him slowly cracking.

“ _Neeeeeeeevermind_ ,” he sang, leaping off the skylight and tumbling to the bottom of the roof that surrounded the raised glass panes.

“NEGA!” Featherly screeched, climbing out of the roof hatch and charging him, letting the hatch hit Gosalyn in the head behind her, who yelped. “YOU FOOL! YOU RUINED EVERYTHING!”

Grunting, Negaduck was shoved back a half step by the smaller duck, Negaduck throwing her off him. “Get off me, woman!” he coughed and hacked, his voice somehow even scratchier than before. “You really think you were in charge this whole time?!”

With every fire his voice got scratchier and deeper. He didn’t think it could handle much more scarring.

“It was my plan!”

“IT WAS _MY_ PLAN! It was _my_ journal, _my_ vendetta, _my_ revenge! _You_ just had to go and get yourself in the middle of it and try to become some kind of – of fake hero!”

“I’m more than that now,” cackled Featherly, the two enraged ducks circling each other. “I’m a legend!”

“Legend?” Gosalyn repeated, just loudly enough to be heard. Stopping, the others turned to her sharply. The teen dropped to the roof wearily, panting and coughing and wiping the sweat and gas from her face. She coughed a few more times, hoping beyond hope her lungs wouldn’t lock up on her like they tended to do. If she cleared them out quickly enough, maybe they wouldn’t. She had some madmen to turn against each other. “Sorry honey, but that’s _Negaduck_ , _THE Negaduck_! He’s Darkwing Duck’s demented, abused, evil brother!”

“You know about that?” Negaduck asked, Gosalyn sitting forward and throwing her hands in the air.

“If course I know about that!” The coughing triggered some more coughs, and she doubled over and let them out. “I also know that if _anyone_ is going to get the credit for taking out public enemy number one and wiping his precious little castle off the map, it’s that guy. What are you going to do, Featherly? Hold a camera and say, ‘back to you, Jim’? You’re not exactly a legend in this town, cupcake. Actually, I’d—” she coughed a few times, clearing out the rest of the soot, “—I’d say you’re pretty forgettable.”

“What?!”

“There’s no heroism in _talking_ about the news, Alge Face!”

“But that’s why I did it! I’m the hero here! I’m the—” Featherly timed her coughs well, “—victim that beats all odds and come out victorious!”

“The old underdog trope?” Snorting, Gosalyn sat back, frowning and pulling at a tangle in her hair as she continued, “that sounds more like my Uncle Negaduck over there, if you ask me. I mean, you just can’t compete with someone who hates his own brother so much, he - not only planted his journal on the only kid in all of St. Canard who still believed in Darkwing Duck to ruin his reputation once and for all – but then kidnapped him and his entire family!”

Confused, Negaduck frowned, advancing on the teen. “You think _I_ kidnapped those idiots?!”

Gosalyn frowned up at him. “Well, yeah? Who else cared about them, or sent that taxi driver, or kidnapped us all?”

“I didn’t kidnap anyone!” Negaduck cried back, pointing at Featherly. “I was supposed to kidnap her and draw Darkwing out! That’s _it_! I don’t have half a clue who those idiots were downstairs besides the scrawny weird kid! And I certainly didn’t want _you_ dragged into this!!”

Gosalyn stared, stunned. “Oh.”

“You,” Negaduck turned on Featherly with deep growl in his throat, “must have dragged them into this! But sure, _I’m_ the one ruining everything!”

“ _I’m_ the one who’s been trying to salvage this disaster! You’re the kidnapper here, not me!”

“How was I supposed to have kidnapped those morons and be on your stupid program at the same time! It’s not like _I_ have an entire army behind me!”

“WAIT A MINUTE!” Gosalyn cried, leaping between the two. “If you,” she pointed at Negaduck, “didn’t kidnap me and the Muddlefoots, and you,” she pointed at Featherly, “didn’t kidnap me and the Muddlefoots, then who the heck kidnapped me and the Muddlefoots?!”

Suddenly, the group jumped, an enormous explosion of glass and heat erupting from behind them. Darkwing Duck exploded up through the skylight, a cloud of heat and flames pushing him up and out. Behind him, a helicopter lifted from behind the building, the spotlight focusing on the caped duck. Blinded, Darkwing covered himself seconds before a large bullet ripped through his middle, tossing him out of the air. His free fall quite suddenly out of his control, Darkwing rolled and bumped his way down the glass and tumbled onto the roof. He laid where he landed, trembling and quiet.

“DAD!” Gosalyn screamed, running to him, Negaduck suddenly tossing her sideways when another bullet hit her footprints.

“Friends of yours?!” he snapped at Featherly over his shoulder, pawing Gosalyn underneath him. He wished he had his cape to grab at, at least to further shield the teen visually if nothing else.

The helicopter lifted up, dropping a rope ladder to the reporter’s side, who snatched it, pulling herself onto it. “It's so hard to get good help these days... I would say I’d hate to say goodbye, but then again, I’ll see you again. In the obituaries!” While she cackled, the helicopter lifted up. With a bloody roar, Negaduck bolted from Gosalyn’s side and leapt after Featherly, snatching the ladder. At the sudden jolt, the ladder and helicopter swung sideways, nearly crashing them both onto the roof.

Standing, Gosalyn spotted white writing on the side of the craft and gasped. That would certainly explain the “army” her uncle had mentioned. Then, from behind her, a small groan called her name.

Gosalyn spun around so quickly she nearly knocked herself off balance. Her green eyes landed on the bleeding, shuddering body of her father, and a wave of panic swept through her.

"DADDY!!” She sprinted to him and scrambled to his side, praying that he’d still be alive when she got to him. Blood was already pooling underneath Drake and was beginning to soak through the hole in the back of his heavy coat, the smell and sight of it all nearly overwhelming the teen. “Daddy?”

Darkwing coughed and puked up blood as she rolled him over, the caped-mallard coiling up around his middle, tremors shaking his body. Gosalyn grabbed his shoulders as he thrashed, trying to steady the spasming duck. His feathers, she realized with a sharp gasp, where burning to the touch, and sweat was covering his coat and mask, soaked through the lavender fabric and stinging his eyes. The more he cried, the more sweat, ash, blood, and gasoline got in them, and Gosalyn pinched her sleeve, trying to clean them out as he continued to rattle and shake.

“You’re okay, Daddy, you’re gonna be okay! Breathe, Dad, come on! Breathe! You said you’d come back! No take-backs!”

 

* * *

 

 

Above them, Featherly screamed, and the teen looked up quickly. Now halfway up the ladder, Negaduck was holding the green duck away from it, dangling her by his grip on her collar.

“NO ONE USES DIVER MALLARD! NO ONE!!”

 

* * *

 

“Gos-!” Darkwing hissed. Gosalyn gasped when he grabbed her sleeve, tugging on it. “Stop him! He’s – please!”

“I know Dad, I know. I will.” She kissed his forehead and laid him down gently. Having forced herself onto her weary, tired legs, Gosalyn ran to the center of the roof, calling up at the two. “Time to go fix things _again_ … UNCLE DIVER!”

For a moment, Negaduck paused, and glanced down at her. Darkwing curled closer in on himself, unsure if he was relieved or even more sick at the thought of Gosalyn knowing the truth.

“Don’t do this!” she cried up at her uncle. “Please! I know my idiot of a father hurt you, but you’re not a monster!”

“Hey!” Darkwing squeaked.

Ignoring him, Negaduck narrowed his eyes down at Gosalyn. “You literally just called me both ‘demented’ and ‘evil’!"

“Because I called you those things just to get Featherly riled up so you two would fight _each other_ so I wouldn’t have to! I mean, you guys are not exactly hard to predict!"

"Why save her?!" Negaduck cried back, giving Featherly a jolt. His tone suggested he maybe already knew the answer, but was desperately trying to ignore it. Maybe she could help push him over the edge.

"Because you’re no monster! You’re just a HUGE idiot like my father, but no monster!”

“You don’t know him very well then—GAH!”

Negaduck grunted suddenly as the helicopter spun around, aiming at Gosalyn and firing a flare. The small flame hit the puddles of gas the ducks had left on the roof, exploding in a hot flash. The blast knocked Gosalyn onto the skylight and threw the helicopter for a loop, the rope ladder underneath it swinging wildly.

“GOSALYN!” Negaduck cried, hauling Featherly back up and onto the ladder. Reaching around the ropes, he grabbed her collar with his hands, holding her close and hissing in her ear. “I’ve already got blood on my hands, that’s the Mallard way. Don’t think I won’t add yours!” Then, he leaped, tumbling to the roof and rushing the skylight.

Spread across it on her belly, Gosalyn groaned.

“Gosalyn!” Negaduck cried, hands out to her. “Don’t move!”

“Un-uncle Nega?” she frowned and tried to turn to see him, the slightest movement making the glass underneath her crack further.

“I said don’t move!” the older Mallard snapped, looking around desperately.

“Uncle Nega,” the teen called, looking down at the thick carpet of flames and heat beneath her, the glass nearly hot enough to burn her, “get me off this thing!”

“I’m trying!” bit Negaduck, pacing back and forth.

Gosalyn was on the windows, the windows were cracking under her weight. Fire and death were below. She couldn’t fall. The windows were cracking. He couldn’t reach her. The windows were cracking!

As he paced back and forth, Negaduck pulled and yanked at his fedora with an agonized howl. He willed himself to think of something, to see the outcome, to consider all the pieces. What would Drake do? What would Drake do? What the H-E-Double-Hockey-Sticks would Drake do?!

But… he wasn’t Drake. The more he pushed his brain the more resistance he got. A terrifying thought occurred to him, and Negaduck’s pacing stopped, and his eyes widened.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“What?!” Gosalyn called over her shoulder at her uncle. “Did you figure it out? Uncle Nega?! Wait- where are you going?! UNCLE NEGA, _PLEASE_!!”

“Drake!” Negaduck snapped, sliding next to Darkwing and shaking his shoulder. Even through the gasoline and blood-soaked outfit, he could feel the heat billowing off his older brother, and frowned down at him. Seeing that Darkwing’s arms were hooked tightly around his middle, Negaduck tugged on them to inspect the injury. Enough of the richly crimson blood and iron smell hit him to realize that yes, the gunshot he thought he had seen had, unfortunately, been real.

“Drake!” he tried again, the older Mallard unresponsive. “Oh, for the love of-!” Seizing his shoulders, Negaduck yanked Darkwing upright and slapped his face, Dark’s eyes popping open.

“Ooow!” he whined at the other duck, rubbing his cheek with a bloody hand. “What was that for – ACK!” Crying out as a tremor rattled through his body, Darkwing doubled over, digging into his coat with both hands, as if he could tear pain the out of him. He somehow grew even hotter, and Negaduck wondered if he should take the other duck’s coat and fedora off to help him cool down. But, wait, the heat was good, right? Weren’t fevers what the body did on purpose? But wasn’t that only when something was wrong? Should he leave them on??

“You’re hotter than you-know-where,” Negaduck snarled, frustration beginning to build up. Frustration with himself was one reason he never tried to escape his brother’s shadow. Diver might have been fit and fiery, but Drake was clever. It was the only reason Diver hadn’t killed him yet. He needed Drake to save Gosalyn, and something in him had stopped him from killing his niece’s father up until now.

“That – that may be so,” Darkwing grunted back, teeth grinding together, “be -ACK!!” Another tremor, and Dark’s hands locked onto Negaduck’s sleeves, pulling at them. He pulled until the tremor passed and shook its way out of him. “Be – beaten, broken, _and in a wooorld of pain_ , but—” leaning on Negaduck, Darkwing climbed his way to his feet, “but, never – GAAH!” Another wave of pain knocked him off his feet, and Dark stumbled into Nega. The shorter duck caught him, guiding them both to the roof, where Darkwing rested, leaning into Negaduck’s chest.

Sweat from his forehead began to soak through the yellow-clad duck’s shoulder, but he didn’t move, letting Darkwing pant and shake as shock crawled into his body and tried to rattle him out. The shock was stealing what strength Drake had left, and he was beginning to lose what remaining grip he had on his body. He weakly puked up more blood onto Negaduck’s jacket, his breath hitching and one arm wrapping around his ribs as the injured lung was further probed. Whether it be from the inside or the outside, he was losing blood at an alarming, lethal rate, his body was trying to both burn and shake him out, and the matching holes in the front and back of him certainly weren’t helping him.

Negaduck wrapped one arm around behind Darkwing and tried to grip the bullet hole in his brother’s back, stopping the bleeding.

Drake must be weaker than Diver thought if he didn’t even try to protest at the help.

“Looks – looks like you finally beat me to – to something…”

Negaduck’s hands releasing him suddenly, Darkwing fell to the roof with a sharp yelp, Negaduck planting his bloodied hands on his own hips.

“Okay, you know what-!” Grabbing Darkwing’s collar, Negaduck yanked him back up, seizing Dark’s bill in one hand and glaring at the older duck over top of it. “You are so ridiculously _DRAMATIC!_ You know, that was always the worst thing about living with you, Drake, all your gratuitous DRAMA!!”

“It was?” Darkwing muttered up to the other, eyebrows bent in confusion and bill still clutched in Negaduck’s hand.

His eyes were glassy and unfocused. Negaduck focused on the blue that swam somewhere under the tears and blood.

“YES! ... Among other things. LOTS of other things! But right now, we don’t have time for your melodramatic _bull hockey_!!”

“DIVER JONAH MALLARD!” Darkwing snapped, leaping to his feet and towering over Nega, “WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE! My daughter might hear you!”

“Your daughter,” Negaduck growled, spinning behind Darkwing and shoving him towards the skylight, “is _exactly_ the one you _should_ be worried about!”

 

* * *

 

The two Mallards ran to the edge of the roof, Darkwing’s eyes darting back and forth as he surveyed the situation, details, and, Negaduck hoped, a way to save the stranded teen.

“Gosalyn!”

Even from where she laid, back to them, Negaduck could tell the teen perked up at the sound of her father’s shaking, ashy voice.

“Dad?!”

“Yes, baby! I’m going to have to -ACK!” Collapsing again, Dark’s muscles locked up, the mallard wrestling back control.

“Gosh-darn it, Drake!” Negaduck growled, bending and hauling one of the taller duck’s arms over his shoulder. “I just said we don’t have time for this!”

Darkwing panted and wheezed, desperately fighting for control of his one working lung. “I – I know that!”

“Dad? Are you okay?”

“I’m okay, Gos,” he called back, glaring at Nega. “Now see what you’ve gone and done? She’s worried sick about me!”

“She’s worried sick because she’s seconds away from falling through the window and down to her fiery death!!”

Blinking, Darkwing glanced back at Gosalyn. “Oh. Or that.”

“DO SOMETHING!” Negaduck roared in his ear, Darkwing hissing at him and rubbing it.

“WELL IT’S NOT LIKE I WAS GOING TO LET HER FALL, YOU KNOW!!”

“BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP!” Gosalyn screamed at them. “What is with all this family drama _bull-hockey_?!”

“LANGUAGE!” both Mallards snapped.

 

* * *

 

In the helicopter above their heads, the pilot circled back around, lighting them up with the spotlight.

“We have visual,” he reported. “Standing by.”

 

* * *

 

“They’re baaaaaaack,” grumbled Negaduck, his hat shielding his eyes from the blinding light. Behind him, Darkwing had his cape between his teeth, ripping a strip out of it.

“I can both see and hear that,” he snapped, spitting the gasoline out of his mouth. “Belgh! Gasoline in the sprinkler system, Negs? Really?”

“Wasn’t me!” the shorter duck bit back, taking one end of the rope ladder Darkwing was tying from strips of his cape. “I just want to kill you, not burn down the whole stinking town!”

Suddenly, they were hit with an explosion, the other end of the skylight erupting in glass and heat. Underneath Gosalyn, the frame began to bend.

“Stop arguing and do something, please!” Gosalyn wept, both ducks freezing at the sound.

Negaduck glanced at Darkwing, who looked like his heart had just shattered and he’d died there on the spot, cold and lifeless. A stark contrast since the duck was almost hotter to the touch than the flames surrounding them. Before too long, however, a small spark lit in the blue of his eyes, and the color rushed back onto his face.

“We are, baby! Gosalyn, I’m – I’m going to toss you the other end of this – this rope ladder! G-grab it and hang on!”

“This is like Bahia all over again, huh Dad?” the teen chuckled, Darkwing ripping the last portion of his cape down the middle.

“I thought we agreed to never talk about Bahia!”

“Yeah, but you gotta admit—”

_“WE DON’T TALK ABOUT BAHIA!!”_

 

* * *

 

In the helicopter, Featherly finally stormed into the cockpit, glaring between the two pilots. “What do you think you’re doing, idiots?! Shoot them all down!”

“Featherly,” the copilot sighed, removing his helmet to reveal sandy blond hair over a ferret’s face. “I think you’ve messed up enough tonight, don’t you?”

“I don’t give me that, Slick,” Featherly hissed.

“All the same, I think it would be in your best interest if you- HEY!”

Suddenly, Featherly lunged forward, mashing the fire button, a flare shooting for the trio.

 

* * *

 

“DRAKE!” Negaduck screamed, leaping back as the flare hit the skylight, which shattered, Gosalyn falling through with a scream.

Wordlessly, without hesitation, Darkwing lunged into the sea of glass, grabbing Gosalyn and wrapping his arms around her. The rope ladder was forgotten in his panic.

“NOOO!!” Diver screamed, swiping at them. He watched them fall, wrapped tightly around each other. Darkwing landed on the Ratchatcher platform first, the flames and smoke unable to muffle the sickening crack that sounded out, and him and Gosalyn bounced off the platform and splashed to the floor in a bleeding, lifeless heap.

For just one second, everyone was quiet.

 

* * *

 

“Well,” Slick shrugged, steering the helicopter back around, “looks like there’s only one loose end – left? Where’d he go?”

Suddenly, the helicopter jolted, knocking the three passengers onto the dash.

“Something’s got us!” the pilot stammered, struggling to regain control. Featherly rushed to the back door, searching the roof for whatever they had hit. Then, she realized with panic, that they hadn’t hit anything.

On the roof, Negaduck held them down, the rope ladder wrapped around their tail.

“ **NO ONE HURTS MY FAMILY** …” he roared, the helicopter yanking him off his feet as it spun around to meet him head on. The duck soared through the air and right for the windshield, Darkwing’s gas gun, a flare loaded, cocked and loaded and aimed right for them. “ **EXCEPT _ME_** _!!”_

 

* * *

 

The explosion rocked the entire block, Bully and the Muddlefoots on the ground flinching with a few short screams.

“GO! GO! GO!” Bully ordered, the firemen charging into the building.

“Gosalyn! Drake!” Binkie gasped, Honker hurrying beside her and hugging her tightly. “Oh, for goodness sake, please be okay!”

Roxanne stepped closer to the police barricade, clutching her phone to her chest. The device rang, and she pulled it silently up, glancing at the caller ID. Shaking her head, a tear falling, she hung up on Jerry.

_“Two bodies found, Chief!”_

Bully yelped as the crowd rushed him, flooding him with questions.

“EVERYONE, PLEASE!” he roared, the group stepping back with an embarrassed blush. He turned to his walkie talkie, speaking into it. “Who are they, Marshal?”

A long pause, then the radio cracked back to life.

_“It’s them, Oxford. It’s Darkwing and the girl.”_

“Are they okay?” Honker asked, Binkie rushing after him.

“Are they alive?” she added, grabbing her son’s shoulders.

Turning his back to them, Bully moved several steps away, relaying their questions to the radio. After a second, the reply cracked over.

It took a long moment for Bully to turn around and face the others.

Binkie and Honker burst into tears, hugging each other tightly around their shoulders, Herb running over and scooping them both up. A few steps away, Roxanne didn’t cry, or wail, just leaned against the hood of the closest car, silent. Bully walked to her, placing a large hand on her shoulder gently. She offered a small smile to him, then patted his hand in silent thanks.

It was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS FIC HAS BEEN CRAZY.
> 
> No, it's not over, we've still got two more chapter and an epilogue, but this entire last battle has been a wild, wild ride. And it's been crazy fun. I really hope I've devastated some people. 
> 
> I'll save most of my comments until the actual ending, but I just wanted to celebrate that this crazy bulk of the last couple of chapters is over. Happy Friday!!


	14. The Healing of St. Canard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the tragedy of the Studio fire and fight, recovery and healing has to happen.

_“Rest your head, little girl blue_

_Come paint your dreams on your pillow.”_

Gosalyn felt like she was waking up, which was weird, since the lullaby usually put her asleep. But as her dad sang, she rolled off unconsciousness, taking a deep breath and blinking the sleep out of her eyes. Drake sat over her, his arms crossed on the edge of her white blanketed bed. His head was wrapped, tears in his blue eyes, and he wore, from the quick, sleepy glance Gosalyn got, little more than a pale blue tee shirt. She didn’t remember ever seeing him in that before.

_“I’ll be here, to chase away fears,_

_So rest now and dream of tomorrow.”_

With a yawn, the teen smiled up at her dad, who took her hand in his own, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. She saw tears fall down his bill, which had tape over the split in it, but his smile made her happy. Try as she might, sleep was gently warming her, and she yawned, snuggling closer to Drake. His voice quivered as he sang, but he nuzzled her close and whispered the last lines, just between the two of them.

_“I’ll be here, to chase away fears._

_So rest now and dream of tumor-row.”_

Gosalyn felt her dad plant a kiss against her temple, and she yawned, turning over in the scratchy bed and curling up closer to him, hugging his hand against her chest. Other voices in the room, some she recognized and some she didn’t, all muttered quietly to themselves. Some said something about miracles, others couldn’t believe that “it” had worked, and others just gasped happily. They all sounded very happy, and her dad, tired and crying as he may be, smiled at her, warmly, brightly, and hopefully, pulling her into his arms.

“Goodnight, Gosalyn,” he kissed her again, and she smiled, nuzzling into him. She slipped gently, happily, into sleep.

 

* * *

 

As soon as he had recovered enough to comprehend what had happened to Gosalyn, it hadn’t taken Drake long to demand that they share a room. He knew hospital regulations probably didn’t allow it, but if the staff was happy to make exceptions for him and his girl based on pity, respect, or both, he was prepared to let them. Besides several visits from the Muddlefoots, who kept in constant, supportive communication and handled everything while the two recovered, they had been kept tucked away in the back of the hospital like a secret. But Drake hadn’t cared. He hadn’t even turned the television on for the first week. Nothing was going to distract him from Gosalyn, or ruin his temporary quiet.

Chief Bully had come to visit somewhere around week two. First, he came as a friend, bringing both Mallards the full support from himself and the St. Canard Police Department. Drake hadn’t cared too much for the latter, but had been hospitable enough to let Bully explain to him what he had been missing. They both had made sure Gosalyn was asleep before the discussion began.

Thanks to Roxanne’s video feed, the S.C.P.D. had a full confession from Featherly, the mastermind behind the kidnapping, though Drake had found no satisfaction in knowing his hunch of the reporter’s involvement had been true. The other key player had been Slick Adder, who had been behind the actual kidnappings, trashing the Mallard’s trailer, arresting them both, setting the traps in the Studio for them, and stealing Diver’s journal from the Muddlefoots. Drake reasoned that it made sense; Featherly didn’t have access to their personal criminal records, nor the resources to track down theirs or the Muddlefoot’s locations like Slick had. What Bully couldn’t fully explain, however, was why. To Drake, it had seemed obvious.

Portia Featherly had been a local journalist and news reporter who had watched her phenomenal career disappear after the city collapsed, leaving her just another reporter over just another crime-consumed town. To compromise, she tried to create her own stories with her biting commentary and gossip. No one else in the city would have agreed to help Diver trash Drake’s name, because no one else was so stoutly convinced that they had lost their spotlight. Featherly had been, like Drake during the days of the show, willing to do absolutely anything to get her spotlight back, which included her personal smear campaign against the Mallards and her relentless bullying of Miss. Dane. She, by the way, should have been hailed as a hero by now.

Bully had insisted that she had been, though the girl had refused any kind of ceremony or celebration. All she had said had been a dignified farewell to Featherly after their final report on the incident, on whose shoulders the city had rested for many years, and expressed her hopes to one-day fill Featherly’s shoes. Drake liked that. He liked Roxanne a lot.

Slick Adder, on the other hand, was a character he never liked, not since meeting him way back during all those _Darkwing Duck_ promotional shoots for the police force. But as for the detective’s motives, Bully already had all the pieces he needed to figure it out, but he asked Drake to explain them anyway. Drake did. Like Bully had said, Slick didn’t experience a career decline when the city collapsed, but a reputational one, the city blaming him and Chief Bully for the sudden spike in civil unrest and local crime. Besides, Slick was the only one involved who had had access to the Beagle Boys, Duckburg’s own low life thugs that had attacked Drake and Gosalyn in the taxi and kidnapped Goslayn and the Muddlefoots, and whom Drake had seen Slick arresting during their visit to the station. Drake had suspected that Slick and Featherly were involved since Slick’s personal interview, but Bully’s words about the senior detective had only confirmed his suspicions. As for where Slick was getting all of his influence within the S.C.P.D., that would be up to Bully to solve. Drake wasn’t familiar with how the department worked like the Chief was. Something, however, scratched at the mallard’s mind. Whatever Slick was using to get his fellow cops to bend to his will was something beyond the police department itself, though he had no idea what it was. At least not yet.

As for Diver’s motives, which Bully hadn’t mentioned, they proved more personal. Drake had used and manipulated his brother’s respect for him all their lives, and after the accident, Drake - despite doing everything to help Diver repair afterwards - had crossed the line by adopting Gosalyn, and Diver snapped. He wasn’t a psychopath by any means. He wasn’t out to hurt Gosalyn or the city or anyone else, both his words and actions had said so, he had just wanted to get back all the life and happiness Drake had stolen from him.

Drake was also sure that Diver hadn’t been planning on making it out of the fight alive. His first clue was the fact that Diver had given away his journal. Someone had to know the full story after he was gone, and if it was Darkwing’s last fan, then all the better. The second clue was Diver’s comment about how many of them would survive the fire. He certainly hadn’t tried to save himself when hanging off the railing either, and he had unintentionally defended Drake and Gosalyn against Slick and the chopper. But, in the end, when Drake was sure that Diver would escape the catwalk with or without him, Drake had finally made just one little sacrifice for his little brother after a life time of taking.

It was nowhere near what he should have done for his brother, he knew that perfectly well. But some small selfish part of him hoped Diver remembered it when he hurled himself face-first into an exploding helicopter. Maybe Diver could have hated his brother just a little less.

But Drake doubted it.

None of that would find its way to the official report, of course. Which, Billy had reluctantly said, was still incomplete. There hadn’t been any signs suggesting the three suspects had survived. The police had been combing through the helicopter wreck, which had crashed through the ceiling of the studio, for the last two weeks, but weren’t expecting to find any signs of either death or life. The case would probably never be closed. This time, Drake didn’t tell them to close it.

 

* * *

 

Drake hadn’t had any nightmares that night. In fact, he had had a long, pleasant dream. He was in a movie theater, the old one he and Diver used to sneak into, eating popcorn and watching his memories play before him on the big, open screen.

He and Diver were friends once, before the “Dweebwing” incident. They used to be inseparable, in fact, Drake and Diver, the Mallard Boys. Trouble was their favorite activity, and Drake’s love for story telling developed early on as he told Diver every story he could invent almost as fast as he could conjure them up. The tales from the books Diver wasn’t old enough to read yet were the foundations for their adventures. They played pretend a lot too. Sometimes they were pirates, sometimes they were spacemen, sometimes they were both. Aliens, cowboys, cops and robbers, wilderness explorers, Junior Woodchuck leaders… their character list seemed to go on forever.

Then, when comic books entered the mix, their adventures began to grow, not in scale, but apart. Drake learned he loved reading, and Diver learned he loved action. They spent more time apart than ever before, but when they came together, with the characters and tales Drake had absorbed and the new landscapes and tricks Diver had discovered, they were sometimes lost on their adventures for days.

It all ended too soon, but Drake didn’t want to see that. He wanted to remember when he and his brother were close, when they played, sometimes when they argued, but exclusively when they were still close. Some time into the movie, he came to the part where their futures changed forever: superhero comics were all the rage, and were the first comics Diver had taken an interest in. For their last big adventure together, they made themselves superheroes. Drake created himself a bold, daring, fearless detective and crime fighter. His name was “Darkwing Duck.” Diver, who lacked the imagination but drew inspiration from his favorite sports, and his brother, made a humble archer, Darkwing’s partner, named “Quiverwing Quack.”

They were the last story the brothers would share. Diver would help them sneak into the bigger kids’ jungle gym to solve their superhero mystery. Drake would fall, break his arm, and wear a pink cast, because the doctor didn’t have purple. Then, the bullies would circle. A nickname would be born. And Drake would never forgive his brother.

And Diver would never understand why.

 

* * *

 

“Ow – ow – ow – ow!” Gosalyn snapped, yanking her head out of her dad’s hands and rubbing her hair. “Are you _trying_ to scalp me?”

“Gosalyn,” Drake hissed down at her, hairbrush in one hand and her damp hair in the other, “do you _want_ me to brush your hair or not?”

“Yeah,” the teen whimpered, rubbing her head sorely, “just hurts.”

“I’m sure it does,” her dad nodded, carefully working out the knot the brush had caught. After it was clear, he brushed it all a few more times and knotted the hair up in a loose bun, being extra gentle with the girl’s scalp. “There.”

Gosalyn stood and ducked into the trailer’s bathroom to check the mirror, inspecting the unusual hairdo. She swiped her uncle’s bobby pins from the sink and pinned her bangs back, satisfied. “I kind of like it.”

“I’m glad,” Drake laughed, Gosalyn leaning into the mirror and looking closely at the crack in the corner of her bill. They had decided once and for all just a few days ago, to Gosalyn’s delight, that their matching bill-scars would stay for good. Neither of them, in fact, bore a lot of the outward signs of the fight and near-death fall anymore, not since coming home almost a week prior. Of course, neither Mallard was a hundred percent again, that would take time, but they had each other to lean on until that happened. “You know what, Dad,” she smiled at Drake as he joined her to return to hairbrush to the vanity, “we look awesome. How many other parents and kids have matching scars?”

“Stop messing with it,” her father scolded lightly, surveying his own scar in the mirror. “Mine’s bigger.”

“Dad!” the teen laughed, shoving Drake lightly, who hit the edge of the cupboard, bounced off it and bumped into Gosalyn, both ducks knocked off balance. They groaned and grabbed their throbbing heads, waiting for the trailer to stop spinning and their concussions to stop pulsing with pain.

“New rule,” Drake lifted one finger in the air, “no more getting concussions at the same time.”

“Agreed,” Gosalyn nodded.

The concussions had been the least of their worries after the fireman pulled their bodies from the fire. By some miracle, both had escaped the flames that were consuming the building, as well as serious injury from the fall. Well, Drake - in taking a cue from his daughter - had down-played the severity of his fractured skull, busted ribs, severe trauma to his eye and face, and punctured lung so Gosalyn wouldn’t worry, but she did anyway. That is, only after she had woken up from her comma. It had taken several days for Drake to fully wake up from all his surgeries and recovery afterwards, but as soon as he was, he was asking about Gosalyn. Hearing that she had been unconscious since the incident had sent a white-hot chill of panic through him, and though nothing the experts had tried to wake her up with had worked, Drake knew his daughter. And he wasn’t about to give up on her.

Recovery had been a long, painful journey, especially for Drake, whose system had been ripped apart by two different waves of shock and severe blood-loss. He had had to go through a few agonizing sessions of physical labor for his eye and ribs, which Gosalyn saw him through. What she couldn’t help him muscle through, however, was the damage to his brain. The blow had left swelling and bruising, which meant her clever father could, and sometimes had, zoned out completely, suffered wild and terrifying hallucinations, and sometimes had forgotten who he was entirely. Though she couldn’t stop it, Gosalyn had always been his first responder when this happened.

The memories he had regained through reading the journal, he realized, had been locked away once more, probably for his own protection. But he still held his many memories of Diver, and tried not to worry too much about the rest. He was sure they’d come back in time, especially since they were living in St. Canard again.

Of course, being Drake, he still worried entirely too much.

Gosalyn’s injuries had been considerably less severe than her fathers, thanks to her father, and she had handled the few she had like the champ she was. Before too long, everyone in the hospital had heard of how she fought off those kidnapping Beagle Boys 3-on-1, and how _she_ had been the one to figure out exactly who was behind the whole thing, long before her dad had. (Just don’t tell him she said that. Fragile ego and all.) Yes, she’d had nightmares of her own, especially with the drug-induced sleep, but the two Mallards had somehow found enough time to cuddle, sleep, and be still together while recovering. Drake had taken full advantage of their unpredictable sleep cycles and imprisonment to fill Gosalyn’s head with stories upon stories off him and Diver as kids. He shared all the characters they had made up together, all the adventures they had gone on, and all the secret places around the city where they had carved their names. As enriching as it was to hear about her dad and uncle as mischievous kids, it did make Gosalyn wish she could have known her Uncle better. Or at all. Drake agreed, hesitantly. Maybe Diver would have been a good uncle.

Maybe.

But he had his doubts.

Binkie Muddlefoot, bless her, had handled _everything_. She was sure the two had no insurance, but put her legal career to the test and got their bills covered anyway. When the two had first been rushed in, she had shoved her way straight to their head doctor, and had been absolutely _sure_ that the hospital knew how many allergies Gosalyn had, even if she didn’t know them all herself, so Gosalyn had avoided an allergy attack during her treatment. Despite the many complications, the hospital had provided the two heroes the best care available, and the Muddlefoots had been there every single step of the way to support their new friends. And poor Honker had been, and remained so since they returned home to the Muddlefoot’s driveway, hard-pressed to leave Gosalyn’s side.

On the outside, Roxanne had done a fantastic job in guiding the city’s healing process. St. Canard had never experienced a horror like what had happened at the Studio, not many cities had, but Roxanne kept her chin up and her facts straight concerning the whole matter. Everyone was in a state of shock, their hatred for Drake Mallard momentarily forgotten, so the young reporter laid some new groundwork. No more biased commentary on the news, no more underhanded dealing. Everything that came out of that station would be, from that point forward, clean and upfront. The city appreciated it more than they realized, and the citizens found that they liked the new mindset. Pretty soon, the whole ordeal had been examined, catalogued, and stored away as a part of history. Their hatred for Drake Mallard, as well, had been shelved, but gaining back St. Canard’s trust and affection was going to be a long road.

It took a few more minutes for the Mallards to finish getting dressed and ready to meet their visitors. Grabbing Drake’s windbreaker, the Muddlefoot’s dry cleaners had done a fantastic job of getting the blood and stains out, Gosalyn moved to help her dad shrug it on, but paused, frowning down at the plastic in her hands.

“Penny for your thoughts,” Drake smiled at her, gently leaning his back against the table and buttoning his oxford shirt.

She offered him a quick smile and crossed the trailer to him, leaning face first against him. Drake wrapped his arms around his shoulders, stroking the top of her head. “Dad, can I wear your jacket?”

“Don’t think a windbreaker is very professional for these fancy business types?”

“No, but, what am I going to wear?”

Stunned, Drake, lowered his hands and gently pushed the teen away. She kept her gaze focused on the floor. “Oh, I’m sorry, Gos. Gas and fire and glass aren’t too good for a letterman, are they?”

Gosalyn shook her head. The sad truth was that they had each lost something in the fire, besides their attackers and long-lost brother and uncle: Drake’s Darkwing Suits, either the one they cut off of him in the ambulance or the ones lost in the fire, and Gosalyn’s letterman, which barely made it to the ambulance. She hadn’t found anything suitable to replace it with yet, not in their shared time in the hospital and short time since coming home, but since neither Mallard had wandered far from their trailer or the Muddlefoots’ home in the last several days, she hadn’t had the need. Now, without her favorite jacket and little piece of her dad wrapped around her, she realized how lost she felt.

Drake was about to respond when there was a soft knock on the door.

“That’s probably Honker,” the teen said quietly, shuffling away from Drake and opening the door. “Hey Honker. Are they here?”

“Yeah,” Honker nodded, juggling a box behind him. “Umm, can I come in?”

Gosalyn blinked and stepped aside. “Sure.”

“How are you two feeling?” asked Honker, Drake taking the windbreaker Gosalyn handed him before sitting wearily on the curved benched behind her father.

“I’ve got a little bit of a headache that keeps coming and going,” Drake teased softly while slowly shrugging the jacket on.

“Heyo there Drake-a-rino!” Herb called, stomping his way up the trailer steps, which shook as he walked.

“Oh, there it is,” Drake muttered while rubbing his head.

“Hey there, Drakey,” the obese duck smiled. “Those important types you were expecting are here.”

“I already told them, Dad,” Honker blushed.

Sighing, Gosalyn pulled herself off the bench. “We better get to it.”

“Actually-!” Stepping before Gosalyn quickly, Honker cut her off, his cheeks blushing. “I, uh, I wanted to give you something, Gosalyn. If your – if it’s okay with your dad.”

His arms lightly crossed, Drake chuckled. “Hey, hey, don’t drag me into this.”

“Oh, well….”

“What is it, Honker?”

Wordlessly, Honker pulled the small shoebox from behind his back, presenting it to Gosalyn. The other teen blinked down at it, glanced at her dad briefly, and took the box. She sat back on the seat and opened the box, gasping.

“Honker!” cheered the teen suddenly, jumping to her feet, stars of light sprinkling in her vision after moving too quickly. She dropped back down on the bench, holding up the gift.

Honker’s _Darkwing Duck_ Letterman was brilliant purple with light pink sleeves, collar and cuffs, with shimmering gold stripes on the cuffs, the “DWD” insignia on the breast, the show’s official logo on the back, and even the iconic gold double-breasted buttons on the front.

“Wow,” Drake smiled, stepping closer and leaning on the back of the metal chair. “That’s a very thoughtful gift, Honker.”

“I’d say it is!” beamed Gosalyn, standing and trying the jacket on. “It fits!” she cheered, scooping the taller teen up in her arms. “It fits! It’s perfect, Honker! Thank you!”

“You’re welcome,” Honker giggled and blushed, fixing his glasses and catching Gosalyn as she stumbled a half step away. “I figured your old one didn’t survive, and the jacket is too small for me, and besides, I don’t mind giving some of that old stuff away, anyway, rather than just keeping it all to myself, you know?”

“I know,” Gosalyn teased, hugging the jacket and leaning her head into Honker, who blushed all anew. “It’s perfect.”

“Welp,” Drake took a deep breath, “we better get this meeting over with before our 3 o’clock nap.”


	15. Duckburg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though Drake and Gosalyn both survived the fire and fight, be that barely, they aren't out of the woods yet. The city has never been rocked like this before, and the small family is going to need all the help they can get to piece themselves back together in this new world of theirs. And that help might come from a surprising source, and dare we say, a new friend?

Herb lead them into the house, Honker babbling excitedly to Gosalyn about where he got the jacket and how he never really wore it, it was mostly just a collectable. Once they reached the house, the two Muddlefoots headed out back for the garden, respectful of the Mallard’s space. When they reached the threshold off the kitchen, however, Drake grabbed Gosalyn suddenly and pulled her away from it.

“Gosalyn!” he cried, pulling on his head feathers. “Why are we doing this? I don’t want to sell the studio!”

“ _I_ know that Dad,” the teen calmed, taking Drake’s forearms in her hands, “and _you_ know that, but those fancy blokes in there don’t know that! We go in there, and no matter how much they offer, we just keep turning them down. Eventually they’ll get the message, and you know what Binkie said about how much these lawyer types talk. Word will spread and pretty soon everyone in town will get the message that we’re not selling, no matter how much they offer, and no one else will bother us about it again!”

“Okay, okay,” Drake nodded, taking Gosalyn’s hands off his arms and holding them in his own. “You’re right, we’ve discussed this. But, real quick, where is all this ‘us’ talk coming from?”

“Dad,” the teen teased, “that’s _my_ inheritance on the line. I’m not letting you sell it for nothing! Well,” she turned her back on him, “maybe not _nothing_ …”

Rolling his eyes, Drake shoved Gosalyn across the threshold first. After taking another deep breath, he followed.

 

* * *

 

The three vultures that crowded the other side of the kitchen table stared long and hard at Drake. He slumped painfully in his chair and grinned sheepishly up at them.

“Now then,” smiled Binkie, throwing open the back curtains and letting light into the dark room, “that’s better. Is everyone comfortable?”

Exchanging a look between themselves, the vultures nodded.

“Wonderful,” the canary smiled, sitting down in her chair and scooting her laptop closer. She offered an encouraging nod to Drake, who smiled back.

“Thanks for sitting in on this, Binkie,” he replied while pushing himself up in the chair, and she giggled, waving him off.

“Think nothing of it. Gentlemen, this is Drake Mallard, and his daughter Gosalyn. They’re the ones you want to talk to about buying the property. I’m simply here to advise.”

“Gentlemen,” Drake nodded, swallowing hard. The vultures didn’t respond, just stared at him with sharp, judgmental stares. Giggling, Drake glanced at Gosalyn, who offered him a double thumbs-up. His confidence returned just a fraction, he had certainly worked with less in the past, so the mallard sat up straight and crossed his arms on the table. “I can assume we’re all very busy on a lovely day like this,” boy, did it feel good to use his producer voice again, “so let’s get right down to business, shall we? Now, how much are you offering for the studio?”

Stunned, the vultures exchanged another look. The one in the middle spoke up first.

“I’m afraid our intentions were misunderstood,” he said, his partner setting a briefcase on the table and sliding it to Drake. “We’re not here to buy the studio, Mr. Mallard.” With a confused blink, Drake opened the briefcase, a pile of papers taller than Gosalyn shooting up out of it and swaying tediously over their heads. “I’m afraid, we’re here to collect it.”

Drake squeaked, and leaned around the tower of paperwork, staring at the buzzards.

“We represent McDuck Banks,” the leader explained as Binkie pulled the top paper off the stack and read it, “and it’s our understanding that you owe us quite a bit of money.”

“Oh,” Drake chuckled nervously, “that. Well,” he cleared his throat and shoved the briefcase out of his face and closer to Binkie, “you see, gentlemen, I’m a little short of cash at the moment. But I’m sure, if I could just talk to Mr. McDuck—”

“We’re aware of your current financial situation, Mr. Mallard,” the vulture’s voice danced on the line between condescending and bored, “that’s why, you’ll see there at the top of the case against you, we have provided a new contract. This is a basic annulment, which cancels out the outstanding debts you owe by surrendering the full sum of the property, profit, and funds, over to Mr. McDuck. That,” the vulture chuckled and checked the papers in his hand, “includes the character and rights of the character ‘Dark-ring Duck’, and all other characters and intellectual property associated with the project.”

“Hey,” Drake snapped, looking over the papers himself, “that’s Dark- _WING_ Duck – wait, you want me to sell Darkwing?”

“Not sell, return.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Gosalyn growled, slamming both hands on the table, “you can’t just demand that Dad sells you Darkwing! He’s Dad’s own creation! His intellectual property!”

“Which,” the vulture sighed, “was brought to fruition by the money Mr. Mallard was loaned, and has yet to return, from McDuck Banks.”

Drake was stunned, and slumped in his chair, staring blindly at the papers in his hands.

The vulture spoke again, his voice just a touch softer as he dealt with the defeated duck. “I’m afraid you have no hope of possibly paying back the initial loan, interest, and the cut you own Mr. McDuck from the show’s profits, Mr. Mallard. This is, good sir, your one and only chance to settle the debt.”

Rubbing his eyes, Drake sighed. Try as he might to find any other solution, which was very hard, the whiplash of it all left his battered mind stunned. If there _was_ another way out, he couldn’t see it.

If only he could talk to Scrooge himself!

After a tense moment of silence, he blinked up at Binkie, the canary diligently burying herself in the papers. “Binkie?”

She sighed and set them aside. “They’re right, Drake, I’m afraid.” They both tried to ignore the way Gosalyn gasped. “You’ve really got no chance of making any more money from that franchise, not without a studio, and not after everything that’s happened.”

“But the city doesn’t hate us anymore!” argued Gosalyn.

“But that doesn’t mean the world is willing to pay money for Darkwing,” argued her father.

“I don’t care!” Gosalyn slapped both hands on the table and shot to her feet, startling the group. “You _can’t_ sell Darkwing! You _can’t_! He’s all we have!”

“I know that young lady,” Drake bit back, “but that’s just it, he’s _all_ we have! If we ever want to be out from under McDuck’s banks, this might be the only way.”

“This is the _only_ way,” the vulture corrected, earning him a dangerous glare from Drake.

“You could sell it to someone else!” Gosalyn pleaded. “Clearly it’s worth something if they are willing to trade it in for everything you owe! Sell it to me! I’ll take care of it!”

“Gosalyn,” Drake tried to keep his voice from getting too loud, “you’ve got nothing to buy it with! Besides, who else would I trust with this than Scrooge? At least he was involved with this since the beginning, and isn’t some random up-start hoping to make a pretty penny on the headlines.”

“But there has to be someone you can trust! Another producer? Someone you worked with before? Come on, Dad, think!”

“I’m trying!” Drake cried. Goslayn’s face flashed red, and they exchanged an even glare. “Just because I can’t see another way out—”

“There isn’t one.”

“Shut up!”

“Gosalyn!”

“Dad, don’t you care about Darkwing?!”

“That is it!” Drake roared, shooting to his feet. “One more word from you, young lady, and you’re barred from the rest of these meetings! I don’t _want_ to sell Darkwing, and could I refuse, I would! If you can’t get your head around that, you can wait in the trailer! Do I make myself clear?”

Gosalyn glared, and she sat back in her chair with a huff.

“Gosalyn?”

“Yes.” She growled, and Drake glared at her. He slowly lowered himself to his chair, resting his spinning, throbbing head in his hands.

And he was right, and he knew it, but Gosalyn _had_ raised an interesting point in selling _Darkwing_ to someone else. His mind raced to find any suitable subject, any other professional he had worked with or admired, but his frantic search came up empty. There wasn’t another single other producer or team he could trust with the project. Or even knew. Besides, Scrooge _did_ have the advantage of taking Drake and _Darkwing_ under his wing when countless other banks and investors had turned him down. Selling the franchise now, after everything that had happened, would feel like he was cheating, not only himself and the characters he cared so deeply for, but Scrooge.

And apparently Scrooge’s only interest in claiming the project was to claim it all for himself anyway. Drake knew the vultures were right, the rest of the franchise should belong to Scrooge, but the fact that the older mallard had the audacity to say such praises about Drake and _Darkwing_ on Featherly’s program and then sent his buzzards to do the dirty work and tear it all from Drake’s hands hurt him almost more than selling would have. Even if it was right, it felt wrong.

It felt like betrayal.

But he had no choice, and Binkie offered him the contract. He held his hand out to Gosalyn for the pen, but she ignored him with a sharp pout. He sighed.

“Gosalyn, please. I don’t want to do this, I _really_ don’t want to do this, and I don’t want to keep fighting you on this, but please, it’s the only way.”

“It can’t be!”

“It is!”

“Just like that? You’re not even going to take some time to think about this—!”

“Young lady!”

Taking a deep, angry sniff, she shoved the pen into his hand and turned away, glaring at nothing. Drake glared at her briefly and turned to the paper to sign it.

“And here I thought Scrooge McDuck made all his money fair.”

“This, Mr. Mallard, is fair.”

Drake glared at the vultures for as long as his headache would allow, then lowered his eyes to sign the paper.

“DRAKE MALLARD!” a Scottish accent called from the front door, the group frowning and searching each other in confusion. “Dunnae sign a thing,” smiled Flintheart Glomgold as he waddled into the kitchen, “until you talk to old Flinty!”

“Flintheart Glomgold?” the house members addressed in shock, standing to their feet.

“What are you doing here?” frowned Drake.

“And how did you find my house?” Binkie added.

With a throaty laugh, Glomgold waddled over to Drake and hugged the taller duck tightly around the elbows. “I’ve been telling you since the beginning, Drake m’ boy...” using his cane, Glomgold swept the briefcase and papers away from Drake, “I’m only tryin’a do you a favor! Now,” Glomgold bounced around and rubbed his hands as he grinned up at Drake, “how’s about we talk for a minute, hmm? Businessman to businessman? _Duck_ to _duck_?”

Dropping into his chair with a loud sigh, Drake rubbed his temples. Somehow his headache had gotten significantly worse in the last few seconds. “What do you want, Glibglub?”

Glomgold backpedaled a few steps with another laugh. “Oh no, this isn’t about what _I_ want, it’s about what _you_ want!”

The short duck presented Drake with another briefcase, opening it for him. The gold glow coming from inside made the mallard gasp, Binkie and Gosalyn crowding close to see for themselves.

“Oh, goody, goody,” Drake muttered, pulling a stack of papers from it, “it’s yet _another_ pile of papers. You’re right, this _is_ want I always wanted.”

“This contract isnnae a normal contract,” Glomgold laughed, snatching the papers from Drake, “not like something McDuck’s buzzards would toss your way, pretending it’s anything more than table scraps!”

Glomgold leaped onto the table, kicking the pile of papers over, which covered the three vultures with a yelp. Poking their heads out from the paper blanket, they glared at the small duck.

“Please go home…” Drake muttered, but Glomgold ignored him, stabbing his cane into the other mallard’s face.

“While McDuck would try to pinch every penny from you to tickle his own Money Bin, I’m offerin’ you a chance to actually make something from that old franchise! This here,” he pointed to the contract in his hands with his cane, “is a nifty little agreement that sells _me_ the 70% of the properties, profits, and funds that McDuck doesn’t own, but _you_ do.”

“Sure,” Drake crossed his arms again and leaned back in his chair, “I own the other 70%. But that means that Scrooge still owns the other 30% —”

“Ep, ep, ep,” Glomgold smacked the top of Drake’s head with his cane, “you just let old Flinty worry about McDuck, Mallard, and you just worry about signing right here on the dotted line.”

“Now wait just a minute,” Gosalyn crossed next to her dad, “it just so happens that we’ve had other offers for our little franchise, you know. It’s kind of a big deal right now? I think ‘biggest buzzword of the decade’ is what they were calling it? Anyway, assuming the second richest duck in the world isn’t scared of a little _competition_ , just how much is your initial offer, again? Just for starters.”

“Oh,” Glomgold pulled a check from his coat and waved it in front of Drake’s face, “just a little bit of pocket change. Pocket change that happens to be double – triple whatever McDuck is coughing up! Just look fer yourself!”

Drake took the check in both hands and read the number, squawking in shock. “Th-this much? Just for a burned down studio?” Then, a frown darkened his features, and glared up at Glomgold. “What’s the catch?”

“No catch!” the shorter duck waved his hands before him with a forced smile. “Just interested in helping out a fellow duck, is all!”

“Sure,” Drake snapped, slamming the check back on the table and crossing his arms again. “This,” he nodded over his shoulder and towards the glaring Binkie, “is Mrs. Binkie Muddlefoot from _Beak and Beak Law_. She’s got quite the connections in the law world, you see, and neither she, nor myself, are entirely convinced that _Glomgold Industries_ does _barely_ _anything_ on the nose.”

“In fact,” Binkie stepped forward, “I’m _entirely_ convinced that _Glomdgold Industries_ doesn’t do _anything_ on the nose.”

“So,” Drake said slowly and leaned forward on the table, glaring up at Glomgold, “I ask again: what’s the catch?”

“Quite an astute observation, lad,” another voice praised from the kitchen doorway, the group turning around. His stance wide and confident, one hand leaning on his hooked cane and the other on his hip, smiled Scrooge McDuck. The small mallard tipped his hat at them. “Mrs. Muddlefoot I presume,” he smiled, “may I come in?”

“Oh, of course, Mr. McDuck!” Binkie giggled. “It’s an honor to meet you!”

“And you,” the duck replied, sauntering to the table. He looked up at Glomgold and rested his hands on the head of his cane. “Glomgold, behave yourself like a respectable gentleduck and get down off this lovely lass’s table. And while you’re at it, you might explain just what brings you to St. Canard in the first place. Duckburg run out of wee lil’ babies to steal candy from?”

“DAD!” Gosalyn whispered to Drake, “that’s Scrooge McDuck! He came!”

“Yes,” Drake crossed his arms with a dangerous glare, “it would certainly seem so.”

“Seeing as I was here first, McDuck,” Glomgold leaned on his cane and scowled down at Scrooge, not moving from the table top, “I think that _you_ should be the one explaining yourself, you ole penny-pincher.”

“Um, I’m with him,” Drake said, pointing one finger into the air. “What _are_ you doing here, _McDuck_?”

“Oh, a wee bit of business is all,” Scrooge replied, spinning his cane under his arm and walking back to the vultures. “Specifically, checking up on my business associates, who,” he snatched a paper off the lead vulture’s head, “seem to be operating outside of their own jurisdiction again!”

“Sir,” the vulture replied, “we’re simply trying to settle the debt Mr. Mallard owes you. You must be—”

“I’m perfectly aware of the exact amount I’m due! I’m Scrooge McDuck! No one gets away with owing me a penny! However,” straightening his hat, Scrooge turned away from the vultures, “I also prefer to handle these situations myself, you mangy mongrels!”

The Mallards and Binkie exchanged a confused look, and Gosalyn stepped forward. She tangled her arms behind her back hopefully. “Soooo, does-this-mean-you- _don’t_ -want-Dad-to-hand-over-his-70%-of-the-franchise-to-satisfy-the-debt?”

Clearly startled, Scrooge gaped at her. “Have your father hand over _his_ 70% of the franchise to satisfy the debt?!” Spinning around, he cut a sharp glare through the buzzards, who had the decency to look ashamed of themselves. “You _are_ getting restless in my old age, aren’t you?”

“Hah!” Glomgold barked. “Yeh’re too late, McDuck!” Leaping onto Drake quite suddenly, Glomgold knocked the taller Mallard off his feet, grabbed his hand, and wrestled it over the paper, forcing Drake to sign. When he was finished, Glomgold shoved Drake backwards, Scrooge flinching worriedly, and seized the contract. While Gosalyn and Binkie rushed the fallen mallard, Glomgold hurried to Scrooge and shoved the contract in the slightly taller duck’s face. Scrooge read the paper and gasped, quickly narrowing his eyes to glare at Glomgold. His grip on his cane tightened.

“Haha! I’ve done it at last! I’ve got you this time, McDuck! Say goodbye to your precious 30%,” the shorter duck mocked, hurrying to the doorway and bowing at the family, “because you willnae keep it from me for long!” Waiting just long enough to glance back and forth between his furious audience, Glomgold giggled and saluted with his bonnet. “Tootles!”

“Why you son-of-a-!”

“Easy there, lad,” Scrooge stopped, twirling his cane and cutting off Drake’s angry charge after Glomgold. “You’ll aggravate that head injury of yours if yer not more careful.”

“But – that little flea just stole _Darkwing Duck_ away from me!” Drake argued, Scrooge walking calmly to the head of the table, something among the clutter of papers Glomgold left behind catching his eye. “He’ll get his lawyers to fight with your lawyers, and before we know it, he’ll have stolen your portion as well, and it’ll all be his! Darkwing, the show, everything! And if you even cared—!”

“Of course I care, Mallard!” Scrooge cried and spun around, stomping his cane on the floor. The others gasped, but grew quiet. “Those mongrels may have beaten me here, but I’m here now, aren’t I?”

“Oh, and that makes it all okay, does it? Never mind that fact that you sent your stooges to do your dirty work,” growled Drake, advancing on the shorter duck. “You clearly care _so_ much, I can see it written all of your face!”

“Think very carefully about your next words, Mallard,” Scrooge growled, planting his fists on his hips.

“Why? Because you might not like them?’

“Because that’s a door you might not want to close just yet.”

“Why didn’t you stop Glomgold?!” Gosalyn pleaded, shoving her way between the two. “Or at least let Dad try? I thought you were on our side?”

“Because, little lass,” stepping back, Scrooge tugged a few times on his coat to collect his composure, “I find the uproar old Flinty will cause when he tries to get a judge to uphold a contract signed by a _fictional character_ much more amusing than any attempt at trying to stop him will be. And it’s good to laugh, especially at my age. Keeps the heart young.”

“Wait,” Drake blinked as his frown softened, the last sentence making his head spin. “What?”

“Good work, _Darkwing_ ,” Scrooge smiled, tipping his hat.

“Drake,” Binkie nearly giggled, stepping towards the stunned duck, “you didn’t! You signed the contract as Darkwing?”

Drake continued to stare at Scrooge, rubbing his head. Finally pulling his eyes off the rich duck, he shrugged helplessly at Binkie. “I guess I... did.”

“Alright!” Gosalyn leaped into the air, rushing her dad and leaping onto him. “Way to go, Dad!”

Both ducks groaned at the sudden movement, a dizzy spell over taking them. Drake stumbled into Binkie’s arms and Gosalyn stumbled backwards, Scrooge catching her gently, one hand on her elbow and the other on her back.

“What would ever possess you to do such a thing?” asked Binkie, helping Drake right himself.

He laughed, rubbing his head. “All those old autographs, I guess. Old habits.”

Blinking a few times, Gosalyn shook her head, and realized with mild alarm she was still in Scrooge’s arms.

“Oh,” the teen giggled nervously at him, righting herself. “Um, sorry for yelling at you, Mr. McDuck.”

“Scrooge, please,” he smiled, hooking the cane over one wrist and offering his hand. “And I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Scrooge McDuck, and you, little Madam, must be Gosalyn.”

Gosalyn gaped for a second at the Scottish duck, finally seizing his hand in both of hers and shaking it. “Yessir! Gosalyn Julifeather Cavanary Waddlemeyer-Mallard!”

“Oh, now that’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time.” Scrooge righted his cane and planted it on the hardwood beneath his spats. “I knew your grandfather, lil’ Gosalyn. Dr. Waddlemeyer. He was a brilliant scientist, and a brilliant duck.”

Like the wind had been knocked out of her, Gosalyn blinked at him, a slow smile spreading across her bill. “You knew Grandpa?”

“Aye, that I did. It would be my pleasure to discuss his memory with you at some near point,” Scrooge picked his cane up and saluted with it. “He was a fine duck, one worth remembering. I think he’d be incredibly proud to see his granddaughter keeping such a spirit inside her.”

Still too stunned to talk, tears forming in her green eyes, Gosalyn nodded. She wiped the tears away over her wide smile. With a small smile of his own, Scrooge offered her his handkerchief, and she dried her eyes.

Drake watched the scene, and something inside him both stiffened and softened at the same time. Scrooge was right in the interview, about how little he had really worked along-side Drake, mostly because the younger mallard was too busy to really entertain his primary financial backer. It was something Drake knew he would continue to berate himself for. Old and wise, Scrooge was genuinely interested in the project, and he was the first. Drake always had Diver’s support, but never his full interest or commitment, not like Scrooge had shown. It made Drake sick, to think about the kind of a friendship they could have had, had Drake simply taken the time and energy to try. Maybe Scrooge would have been able to help them out when they fled St. Canard, if not financially, then simply as a friend. Whatever decision he and Scrooge would end up reaching to settle Drake’s outstanding debts, he assumed that any hope of friendship would end as well.

Taking a deep breath, he prepared himself for the worse.

“Mr. McDuck,” he noted how Scrooge frowned at him, “I appreciate all of your support for the show, really. None of this would have happened had you not invested in this cockamamie idea of mine, and I mean that in a good way! But… your lawyers were right. I can’t pay back the loan, or even a fraction of the profits that I owe you. All I have is Darkwing, and you’ll have to take that as a start.”

Scrooge’s white feathers flashed red, and he scowled, planting his fists on his hips. “What d’ya mean you cannae afford to pay back the debt? And what in Dismal Downs do you think I would possibly want with that loose cannon character of yours?”

Drake blinked back at him, stunned. “Well I don’t know what you’ll do with him, but he’s all I’ve got to offer! At least right now… I’m sure I can find some work here in St. Canard, maybe, to pay off the rest.”

“What are you talking about?” Scrooge scoffed. “Lad, I’m not takin’ that character, or any property, from you!”

“But, McDuck—!”

“As far as I’m concerned,” pulling the check off the table and checking both sides for the appropriate writing, Scrooge smiled, “you can afford two, maybe even three Darkwings, at the present moment. Eh, good old Flinty, always signing off on his chickens before they’ve hatched.”

Taking the slip of paper Scrooge held out for him, Drake’s blue eyes widened. “The- the check! Grimgum left it behind!”

Behind the group, which crowded close to survey the paper, Scrooge rolled his eyes. “Of course he did! He’s Flintheart Grimg – gah, Glomgold! Were you lot really _that_ intimidated _by an old duck in a kilt_?”

The three swapped looks, and shrugged helplessly. Slapping his palm across his face, Scrooge shook his head, walking to the vultures and pulling a briefcase out of the mountain of papers.

“I assume then, that you’ll be paying back the full interest, loan, and then buying your way out of our contract, for good,” he babbled, setting the briefcase on the table.

“You – even with Gruntgoo’s money?”

“I don’t have any more respect for the duck than I do counterfeit coins in me money bin,” Scrooge replied, “but it willnae be _his_ money, will it?”

Gosalyn and Binkie smiled at him, and Drake nodded. It didn’t feel great, being saved by a duck he had even less respect for than Scrooge did, but it was a way out. He signed the paper and handed the check to Binkie.

“You check will be in the mail tomorrow.”

“Good! Fantastic! Now that that’s settled, Mallard, we’ve got some additional business to discuss, since you’ll be settling your family down here in St. Canard and fixing up that old studio...”

“I – wait, I am?”

Scrooge rolled his eyes with even more annoyance than the last time. “Of course you are! Blimey, his head’s worse than I thought… _Darkwing Duck_ is big news, and you’ve got an audience all around the world now, just waiting to see what will happen next! Course, it might be a wee too presumptuous to announce a reboot just yet, but we might try some news series? Perhaps an, oh what are they called, ‘spin-off’? The boys’d know more about the whole thing than I do...”

“Scrooge -” Drake held his hands out, “- McDuck, whatever, I can’t bring _Darkwing Duck_ back! I don’t – I’m not a producer anymore! I don’t have a studio, or actors, writers, equipment - I’ve got nothing!”

“Now listen here, laddy,” Scrooge almost chuckled, gently poking Drake’s chest with his cane, “I dinnae come all way here from Duckburg and bribe my way onto that news special to sing the praises of this ‘spirited and determined young hot-shot’ just to stand here now and watch you give up before you’ve even started! Galloping Jalopies, I dinnae think a single man could change that much in just five years!”

“It’s been nine years since that show started,” Drake crossed his arms, “and I’m not ‘giving up,’ I’m looking at this – realistically! For once in my life, I know to stop while I’m ahead, or, before I get myself and everyone I care about behind. Mr. McDuck, I’ve got a fresh start, my family has a fresh start, and we’re ready to move on from _Darkwing_ , and I think St. Canard is too. You’ve been watching the news, they won’t ever be happy with anything I do for them ever again. I’ve got too much to lose now to go running into blind fights.”

“And he speaks for all of you?”

“Heck no, he doesn’t!” Gosalyn bit.

“Gosalyn!”

“Oh, honestly, Dad?” the teen rolled her eyes and tossed her hands into the air. “You dressed up as Darkwing to come rescue everyone and fight Negaduck, I don’t even know where you got the spare suit and gas gun, you’ve been defending this show my entire life, and especially since we got back to town, and you almost just strangled the second richest duck in the world because you thought he stole the whole thing from you! Oh yeah, you’re _totally_ ready to move on with your life.”

“But, Gosalyn,” Drake sat down in his chair, “it’s not that easy! You can’t just wish something like this back. Darkwing had a special magic the first time it was around, and we’ll never recreate that same affect. And besides, you remember what it was like? Me at work all day and all night, coming home at odd hours, sore and tired and cranky? We hardly ever got to see each other!”

“Dad,” Gosalyn knelt before Drake and took his hands in her own, “stop whining. Sign the contract, or sell your soul, or whatever Mr. McDuck wants. We both know you will in the end anyway so just grow a spine and face your fate.”

“Remember that little talk we were going to have about your language?”

“I’m almost 16, Dad,” Gosalyn smirked up at him, “just _try_ and ground me.”

“Speaking of ‘blind fights,’ the only thing impairing anyone’s vision around here,” Scrooge stepped forward gently, his voice soft, “is that old spirit that used to glow deep down inside yah, lad. That old spunk used to steer Drake Mallard towards the impossible, and was what got my attention in the first place.”

Scrooge put one hand on the briefcase that sat on the table next to him, and after a moment of thought, pulled it towards him. “You’ve got a fresh start here, that’s true, but that doesnae means that you never look back, it means you’ve got the chance to push it all forward! Drag it all into the light where it belongs! This isnae my city,” Scrooge clicked the briefcase open, “and I’m only a spectator on what happens on this side of the Bay, but it seems to me that you’ve got some very fertile ground here, Mallard, and some of the best teammates anyone could ask for. And I dunnae want to see a couple of fine folks like you waste it.”

“What’s this?” asked Drake, accepting the thin stack of papers Scrooge handed him.

“It’s a contract, mirroring the first one in design, but this is a bit more… well, it’s a bit more dangerous.”

“I’m listening,” replied Drake, shifting his weight so Gosalyn could read over his shoulder.

“No matter what my stone-hearted board members may think, I, well, what can I say? I still believe in Darkwing.”

The trio gasped, looking up at Scrooge quickly.

“Oh, dinnae give me that! It’s not like I’ve never taken a chance on a lunatic before! This contract is a right of employment and property contract. It means that if you sign, you’ll be considered a commissioned artist for _McDuck Enterprises_ , and everything you do will be funded, with my approval, through my banks, and you, and everything you create with have the McDuck stamp of approval. Additionally, everyone you hire, will be under my union.”

“It is one of the best unions to be a part of,” Binkie nodded.

“And you,” Scrooge frowned suddenly, motioning to Binkie with his cane, “dunnae think I’ve over looked you, little missy. There’s also a clause in there that would initiate a merger between _Beak and Beak Law_ and _McDuck Law_. I’d hire you and you sister, Mrs. Muddlefoot, to represent Mallard Studios (or whatever this lad ‘ere names it) and work alongside my own lawyers and professionals to help keep everything on the St. Canard end of this agreement in tip top shape. You’d be unionized as well, and would be free to retain and accept your own clients besides Mr. Mallard.”

“Oh,” Binkie stammered, Drake and Gosalyn smiling up at her. “How – that’s very generous! What, I may ask, have I done to deserve this?”

“Lawyers have a way of talking,” Scrooge smiled, “and I saw how you tended to these two during their stay in the hospital and caring for them afterwards. Any professional with as much integrity as you and your sister are more than welcome to join the McDuck name.”

“I- I’m terribly flattered, Mr. McDuck, really! But, of course, the ultimate decision is Drake’s.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Drake sat up, “don’t put this on me! Maybe I’m not ready to go back into writing, or be Darkwing Duck again, or – or produce, huh? Have any of you considered that? Maybe I just want to be a stay at home father who works a few odd jobs here and there on the side to support my family.”

“Dad,” Gosalyn frowned, completely unimpressed, “don’t flatter yourself.”

Drake stared at her, then looked up at Binkie, who smiled reassuringly, and then over at Scrooge. For his part, Scrooge leaned on his cane casually, smiling up at Drake with a mixture of encouragement and smug understanding. As irritating as it might have been for Drake, knowing that Scrooge understood exactly what to dangle in front of his bill to earn his commitment, the old washed up actor found the proposition very tempting.

“I don’t have to write _Darkwing_ ,” he clarified quickly, snatching the pen from the table. “I can write whatever I want?”

“You’ll be a commissioned artist for _McDuck Enterprises_ ,” the older duck nearly rolled his eyes, “so yes. You’ll have full creative freedom, as long as it falls within our Creative Guidelines.”

“What’re those?” Gosalyn asked.

“The same guidelines we have for every branch of _McDuck Enterprises_ : Be tough, be smart, and be fair.”

“I think I can abide by that,” Drake nodded, his knuckle and bill meeting. “And you’ll fund it all?”

“Mallard,” sighed Scrooge, straightening, “if you dinnae want to sign, then you only need to say so—”

“No – no, I…”

Helpless, Drake looked to Gosalyn. She, as expected, was nodding excitedly, silently begging him to sign. Like he apparently was to Scrooge, Drake was completely transparent to her, and she knew more than anyone how badly he wanted to be back in the chair again, directing and producing and acting and writing. Despite his forbiddance of any talk about _Darkwing Duck_ while they were living on the road, at least outside their own company, she knew the pride he had found in his creation and in creating him, and was ready, eager, for them both to settle down, and build a new life, build upon the old one, and start over again like nothing had happened, wiser and smarter than before. Besides, considering his history with Darkwing, and what the character really meant to him and his connection with his brother, she’d be a fool not to encourage him. It was why he had tried so hard to keep Darkwing, and to defend the show’s reputation above their own, even while he knew for their own safety, he and Gosalyn could never discuss it in public. Darkwing wasn’t just a character to him, Darkwing was the Drake Mallard who won.

Binkie was also encouraging him with her smile, and Drake knew it wasn’t just for her own advancement, she clearly didn’t need his or Scrooge’s help for that, but it was, dare he say, as a friend? She had grown attached to his girl, he had to admit, and had expressed her hopes that her family would have some good friends, and that those good friends would be the Mallards. If he did go back into this, it would be a comfort knowing he had friends beside him. Plus, it would be a generous reward for the Muddlefoots after everything they had given up to help him and Gosalyn.

“We’d have to settle down for a while, in muggy old St. Canard of all places,” he reminded Gosalyn, and the teen scoffed.

“So? I’ve been living on the road since I was ten! I think it’s about time I start getting some mileage on my soul for a change.”

“The heck did you hear that?” Drake laughed.

Gosalyn shrugged. “Probably from you.”

“And you know, Binkie,” he tore his eyes off his girl and up at the canary, “it would be a lot of extra work for you and Trudi. And I can’t guarantee your old clients will be all that thrilled that you’ve accepted the notorious Drake Mallard as a client.”

“I’m positive they won’t,” Binkie waved the issue out of the air, “but who needs them? If they want to find another lawyer who will bend to their close-minded thinking, then let them.”

Stunned, Drake blinked and grinned up at her, putting his hands in his lap and staring down at the contract.

“If you dunnae mind,” Scrooge offered quietly, “I do run a multi-trillion-dollar industry across the water, and I should be getting back before they’re thrown into a panic. You can have time to think about it, if you’d like –"

“No, Scrooge, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.” Drake snatched up the pen and scribbled his full name on the paper before he could talk himself out of it. When it was done, he picked the papers up, a sigh escaping him.

“YES!!” Gosalyn shouted, leaping around her dad’s shoulders.

“Oh, simply splendid!” Binkie cheered, clapping and hurrying over to hug Drake as well.

“You’re back, Dad! You’re back!”

A bright flush returning to his cheeks, and spark to his blue eyes, Drake smiled. “You know what, you’re right! I am back! Mr. McDuck—” he crossed to Scrooge, handing him the contract, “- Scrooge, I have a very good feeling about this. A very good feeling.”

“As do I,” smiled the smaller duck, offering his hand for Drake to shake. “It’s a breath of fresh air to see that light back inside you, Mallard m’boy.”

“Dad always says,” Gosalyn leaned an elbow on her dad’s shoulder, “that when you’ve got this much spirit, it’s everyone else who looks empty.”

“Does he, now?” Scrooge tossed a knowing look at Drake, clipping the briefcase closed. “Very wise words. You _should_ be writing those down, you know.”

Suddenly, the back door slammed open, and Honker poked his head in.

“Mom! I’m—" gasping, the boy charged at Scrooge, surveying the shorter duck up and down quickly. “You’re Scrooge McDuck! _The_ Scrooge McDuck! What – what are you doing here?! Are you two bringing _Darkwing Duck_ back? Will we finally get the 4 th season?!”

“Well,” Scrooge offered an unsure smile as he straightened, “as it just so happens, I was here—”

“DRAKEY!” sang Herb, and Drake flinched, the obese duck squeezing his overflowing basket of vegetables through the door first, tracking his dirty sandals in afterwards. “I told you we’d have tomatoes up to our ears!”

“What in blue blazes is that _thing_?” Scrooge gasped, Gosalyn grabbing him and yanking him sideways, before Herb could drop the basket onto him. The sheer weight of the thing bent the table in half underneath it.

“Hehehe,” Drake whispered a nervous chuckle over Scrooge’s shoulder, “don’t worry about old Herbman here, but if you’ve got any Darkwing merchandise on you, I’d probably hide them.”

Scrooge turned on him, enraged and horrified. He threw Drake’s hand off his shoulder, waving the cane at him. “What kind of muddle-mouthed malarkey are you spittin’ out? I don’t have a single piece of merchandise from that blasted cartoon on my person, I’ll have you know!”

“Well looky here!” sang Herb, snatching Scrooge up one of his signature chokeholds. “Binkie, you didn’t tell us we were going to be having company for dinner! Huh,” he looked Scrooge over, who thrashed and struggled in his arm, “kind of a scrawny little fella, isn’t he?”

“’Scrawny’?! ‘Little fella’?!” Scrooge squawked. Turning, he smacked Herb with his cane, promptly throwing the arm from around him and landing swiftly on the floor. “I’ll have you know, you thundering tomato tycoon, that I—!”

Someone cleared their throat, and Scrooge stopped, frowning at Gosalyn. She crossed her arms and gave him a sharp glare, suggesting that he knew better than to say whatever it was he was about to say.

His stance wilting, Scrooge sighed. He placed his cane on the floor and adjusted his hat. “That - I’ll have my secretary clear my schedule. It seems I am staying for dinner.”

Behind Herb, Honker fainted, the large duck smiling. “Well how’s about that, then! Come on over, neighbor,” Herb smacked Scrooge on the back and shoved him towards the sink, “and I’ll put you to work helping me clean all these veggies! A fellow has got to earn his dinner around here, that’s what I always say.”

“Yes,” sighed Scrooge, setting his cane and hat aside and rolling his sleeves up, “I’m sure you do.”

“You think this is a good idea?” Gosalyn whispered, Drake and Binkie leaning close.

“Either Herb cooks for him or I do,” smiled Drake, crossing his arms.

“Oh, yeah, this is probably better.”

Blinking, Drake snapped down at Gosalyn. “Hey!”

“Gosalyn!” Honker called, rushing over to them, nearly slipping on the dirt footprints on the floor. “Mr. Mallard! Guess what I found in the neighbor’s yard!”

“Santa’s ninth reindeer?” the Mallards asked in unison.

Honker blinked at them for a moment, confused, but then he remembered his news, and jumped up. “No! Look!” From behind him, the teen presented them with a “For Sale” sign. The thing had been ripped out of the neighbor’s yard, and a clot of dirt slipped off the pole and landed on the dirtied floor. “I know you two probably can’t afford it right now, but I figured, you know, just in case–”

“Honker,” Drake stepped forward and placed his hand on the teen’s shoulder, “Gosalyn and I buying that house would actually be the least surprising thing that has happened yet today.”

“It would?”

Both Mallards nodded.

“But you’ll buy it, won’t you?” Binkie asked, clasping her hands together. A smile on his face, Drake glanced at Gosalyn, who grinned at him.

“Please, Dad? Pleeeeeeease?!”

“Gosalyn, Gosalyn, Gosalyn,” Drake stopped her with both hands. Rejected, the teen scowled, Drake pinching her cheek suddenly and giving it a playful tug, flipping her ponytail. “I’m not one for the obvious, but this, even to me, seems _pretty_ obvious.”

A smile lit up Gosalyn’s face, and she leaped, wrapping her arms around Drake’s shoulders.

“Whoa – hey!” he laughed, hugging her back. “Easy there, kiddo.”

“Thank you, Dad,” whispered the teen, nuzzling into his neck. “Thank you.”

With the excited cheers of Binkie and Honker behind him, Glomgold’s check still safely in his new lawyer’s possession, Drake relaxed. He let himself breath, and hugged Gosalyn tightly.

“Don’t –”

“NOOOO!” Herb suddenly screamed, the group spinning around in terror. The large duck had his hands up, gasping down at Scrooge. Scrooge smiled up at Herb, and planted his own fists on his hips.

“I do indeed,” he smiled, “and, might I add, I’ve never met another fan of _Pelican’s Island_ in the whole wide world in all me life. And that, I’ll have you know, is a very long time.”

Binkie and Honker laughed, pulling each other in for a hug. Glancing at Gosalyn, their arms still half around each other, Drake planted a long, wet kiss on her head.

“Ooooow- Dad!” she laughed, shoving him off her. Drake’s smile only grew, and he tugged her close, Gosalyn leaning her head on his shoulder.

“Don’t thank me, Gosalyn. Thank Mr. Glomgold.”

“That’s Glompgrind.”

“Whatever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, ladies and gents, the final chapter. (There's a very short epilogue after this so don't panic, I didn't miscount.) Chapter 15 is the last for the book, and sets up the rest of this universe and series. And what a wild ride this has been.
> 
> This story is no where NEAR where it was originally. At first, this was supposed to be more of a crossover fic, with Darkwing and Scrooge teaming up to save everyone from, not only Negaduck, but ALL of the other villains. I had a really great final battle for them and everything. Then I cut Scrooge out of it, and after the others kidnapped Gosalyn, it became Darkwing versus the fearsome foursome while Gosalyn and Nega faced off. That was another AWESOME fight. BOY that was awesome. It was rally long, and REALLY epic. I loved it a lot. Still do, actually, almost as much as I loved the final battle we currently have. Glomgold was actually the ultimate bad guy in that version, having funded the transformation of the other actors into their super-villain characters. I don't remember why, I may not have figured the whole thing out before changing it.  
> When I started reworking the rest of the story, however, and really figuring this AU out, I realized the other other villains being real didn't make any sense. A few of them, mostly Negaduck, could remain the same, but if they were only actors then their transformations wouldn't have worked without Glomgold behind it, whose role I also GREATLY reduced. Reluctantly, I cut the rest of the villains out, and that's when it came down to just Darkwing versus Negaduck, and from there their history grew and developed. I also decided that if I didn't use them all in the first story, I could use them later in the other installments, which has become the case. Clearly, the ending was always the most important part to me, but the rest of the mystery, with a little tweaking here and there, really just fell together. I had very little control over the entire thing.
> 
> So yeah, when I say "wild ride" I mean a WILD ride. But it's really been fantastic and I am very proud of this story. No, it's not perfect, there are still parts I would like to change but have yet to figure out how, but having almost never published (let alone finish) anything before, and successfully making an entire series (something else I've never been able to do) has me just thrilled. I'm beaming!
> 
> Super big shout out to all of the wonderful friends I have made through this fic. First, I have to shout out my girl Reese's (rebellingstagnation) whose "Geronimo" series totally inspired a lot of the emotional heart of this story, and fueled my love for a certain psychopath. Reese's has been a huge support and inspiration to me, so go check out her Geronimo series if you want your life to be ruined. It's fantastic.
> 
> Teh-BlueJay, LeviPrime, Quack-a-Roonie, RaidenRacoon, and Gearlooses have been incredibly supportive as well. Your comments, reblogs, and keyboard smashed notes have kept me uploading and made this all seem worth it. And to As_Clear_As_Crystal, MegaEliz, MayDayGirl_Save_Our_Ships, UnofficialLibrarian, the ever-enthusiastic OneTimeRequester, and everyone else that has commented or bookmarked or given this silly little story a kudos, thank you! You guys have made this all worth it, and I'm more thrilled than i can express to continue to build up this series.
> 
> We've got a long way to get yet, ladies and germs, and lots of thrilling, emotional, and hopefully heartbreaking adventure to go on. Check out my Tumblr (same username) for hints and illustrations.
> 
> I love you all, and I will see you all back here, one last time, for the epilogue (and maybe a special treat).
> 
> Now please enjoy this MONSTER of a chapter (seriously this thing is like three times the average length). 
> 
> \- Becca


	16. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The adventure is finally over. More adventures lay before the Mallards, Muddlefoots, St. Canard, and the world, but before things can get too ... dangerous, there's one more piece that needs to be put in it's rightful place.
> 
> \-----------------------------------------------
> 
> Also, we get a sneak peak of the next installment in the "7 AM EST" Series: All My Ducks In a Row

“Gosalyn,” Drake called to the back of the trailer, “we’re going to be late!”

“Dad,” grumbled the teen, “we’re literally walking one house over.” Poking her head out from behind the curtain, she tossed him an unimpressed look. “How late could we possibly be?”

“Rule number one of trying to bargain,” Drake replied, Gosalyn rolling her eyes and leaving the bunks to check herself in the mirror, “is to never show the other party your hand, especially when making a large investment like buying a house.”

“Again,” she muttered, eyeing him, “we’re rich.”

Drake blinked, and shrugged with a tight chuckle. “Yes, well, like I said, ‘bargaining’. And we are not rich,” he added quickly as Gosalyn joined him in the main area, “we’ve just got a sizable nest egg. A large part of which is going to your college and car fund, by the way.”

From the chair, tying her sneakers on, Gosalyn gaped up at him. “You’re selling Old Yeller?”

“I didn’t say that,” the older Mallard shook his head, taking their jackets off the nails by the door, “I’m just thinking about, I don’t know, getting something that didn’t cross west in the Gold Rush.”

Gosalyn giggled and took her _Darkwing_ letterman from him, pulling it on. “You want a motorcycle, don’t you?”

“More than anything…” Drake groaned, and Gosalyn laughed at him, shivering.

“Don’t ever make a noise like that again,” she said, and Drake straightened quickly.

“What? So, I want a bike again, you can’t blame me!” Flicking the collar to his windbreaker up, Drake looked at the old jacket, rolling up his sleeves. The many stains it had collected in the last month since coming to St. Canard were gone, but the weight of them still lingered. Gosalyn had a new jacket, maybe it was time for him to upgrade as well. “But maybe first I should get a new jacket.”

“What? But this thing is just like you! Old and wrinkled!”

“YOUNG LADY!” Drake cried, swiping at Gosalyn. The teen darted out the door, leaped over the steps, and sprinted across the Muddlefoot’s lawn, laughing all the way. Stepping after her, Drake tripped on something on the top step and clattered down to the driveway, landing with a grunt. After the world stopped spinning, his eyes opened, and he rubbed his head. Suddenly, something heavy and brick shaped landed on his bill, spine down. “It’s a good thing my bill is being crushed,” he muttered, bill pinched closed, “because otherwise I’d have some very unfriendly words to say right about now.”

Finally pulling the item off his face and sitting up, Drake gasped at it. It was worn leather and had been severely blackened by the smoke that clung to it. Drake gently dusted off the scratchy leather cover, and untied the cord that wrapped around it. The leather cracked in his hands as he folded it open, but held together.

Before him, blossomed the pages of his younger brother’s journal.

“Dad?” Gosalyn asked, her breath hitching when she recognized the journal in his hands. She quietly walked over and knelt beside him, watching him turn the pages. “How’d that get here? Did Uncle Diver…?”

Drake shook his head. “Couldn’t be. He’s gone Gosalyn, this time for good. I’m sorry.”

“But—”

Drake shook his head, and the teen sighed.

“Yeah,” Gosalyn shifted her weight with a small shrug, sitting next to her dad and reading the pages over his shoulder. “Will you ever tell me what happened between you two?”

“When you’re older,” Drake replied, keeping his eyes on the words before him.

Shifting his weight, he leaned against her.

Gosalyn watched him flip the pages over, one by one, with gentle hands. Drake had told her stories upon stories about him and Diver as kids. They were Junior Woodchucks together, even though Diver was a good four years younger than Drake, were in middle school together for a year, and filled the time in between with adventures, stories, and later, fights. They were superheroes together, and Gosalyn was enamored with the intimate history that her dad shared with Darkwing, a kind of secret origin that was kept just between the three of them. Diver, according to Drake, never had the eloquence or mastery of words that his brother had, but was a remarkably talented writer, when he felt around to actually doing it. The language of the journal in their hands proved that.

Gosalyn took after her uncle in that regard, actually. She was never good with talking about her emotions, but when it came to her passions – which she often used to express herself – she excelled. That was Diver. Quiet and short and untrusting, and often lonely because of it. He didn’t have a very fun childhood. Their parents started fighting and falling away when Diver was young, so most of his memories of his parents were hostile, angry ones. Poppa’s dementia, the name of which hadn’t been invented yet, started up when Diver entered middle school, and his father’s favoring of Drake is what helped pull them apart. Drake was the older brother, and in their father’s old-fashioned eyes, that meant it was the young teenager’s responsibility to know exactly what was going on in his family. He never hid the truth, and put Drake between himself and his mother, often expecting Drake to take his side, when all Drake wanted was for the crazy duck – Drake was never sure if he believed his father’s claims of forgetfulness or not – away from them. Their mother protected Diver, so he never understood the whole story. Not until…

Drake blinked. Gosalyn was staring up at him, her eyes big and bright and emerald. A blush gently came to his cheeks and he offered her a smile, apologizing for his spell and assuring her that it had passed.

So much had passed.

He sighed and gently closed the book.

“We’re going to be late,” he said, and Gosalyn nodded, but neither of them moved.

“I miss him,” she confessed. “I never really knew him, and I know he was… crazy, but…”

“I know,” Drake stretched one arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I miss him too. And I’m sorry, Gosalyn. I – I wish I could have told you about him a long, long time ago. But things are… complicated.”

The journal remained in his hands, and Gosalyn reached for it and stroked the edge of the leather. They both wondered at the secrets and old memories it held, flashes and glimpses of history Drake was eager to regain and Gosalyn was eager to learn. There was still plenty of the show – of his own history - he had forgotten, and this book, like Diver was still there for him, would help.

Somehow, one way or another, Diver had always been there for him.

And he would be again. For a long, long time.

Her head against his shoulder, Gosalyn sighed. “I know. I am too.”

 

* * *

 

 

Coming up next in the _7 AM EST Series_ : "All My Ducks In A Row"

> Drake was right when he said that his family, if ever pinned down to one location for too long, would go crazy. He and Gosalyn have been in St. Canard for a grand total of three months, the first of which was spent in the hospital, recovering from the Studio fire, and tensions between the two have never been higher. Between Gosalyn starting school for the first time, Drake working with McDuck to rebuild his old production company, constructing a working relationship between Darkwing Duck and the S.C.P.D., and scouring the streets every night as his masked persona, they barely have the time for each other, so maybe when the powers-that-be pull them apart for a spell, it's exactly what they need.
> 
> Too bad one of them will end up dead by the end of it.

\---------------------------------

"Just one moment," came the reply, and Gosalyn rocked on the balls of her feet, waiting. She looked up one end of the hallway and down the other. Her team would be assembling right about now for practice without her, and the teen sighed, loud and long. It still wasn't fair, but she couldn't do anything about it. _She_ wasn't team captain.

A moment later, the same voice called for her and welcomed her into the small office. Gosalyn entered, the strong scent of dandelions hitting her nose.

"Dandelions?" she asked, the councilor, who stood up from behind her desk, smiled at her.

"Very good." Her red skirt sweeping behind her, the taller duck crossed the office to the scented potpourri on a shelf near the window. "Not many people recognize the scent, especially after just one quick whiff. I'm impressed already!"

"Thanks," Gosalyn grinned quickly, eyes roaming around the office. It was surrounded with warm colors, reds and oranges, with deep brown wooden floors, a natural khaki color to the walls, which were covered with red and black ornately patterned rugs. Bookshelves lined the walls where the rugs ended, and were mostly waist high, with a few full height ones by the desk. A few red faunas were scattered around the room with at least three, maybe more, small green plants, and a large one by the door, placed strategically to break up all the space. The counselor had cotton blinds over the windows on the opposite wall, where were cracked open to let in a little light, but the lanterns and candles from all around the world provided most of the soft light.

Gosalyn immediately decided she liked the space.

As for the other duck herself, she was tall, curvy, and beautiful. Over an undershirt, she wore a light red sweater vest and floor length red skirt that perfectly framed her hips and long legs. Her blue bill stood out brilliantly in the warm room, unusual for the duck-folk in this end of the state, and her white feathers glowed. Gosalyn noted the ruby pendant she wore around her neck, but was most fascinated by the councilor's dark, ebony hair, which framed her face in short, thick rolls. A thick white stripe curled through it, one stripe down each side.

It reminded her of something, something old, but she couldn't place it.

"Nice to meet you...?"

"Gosalyn," the teen offered and shifted her book pack, "Goslayn Mallard."

"'Mallard?" the lady repeated, touching her bill with her fingertips.

"Yeah," Gosalyn stuffed her hands in her pockets, "I'm a transfer."

She knew the lady eyed her _Darkwing_ Letterman, and waited for her to comment on it, her name, her father, anything just to break up the silence, but the other just smiled down at Gosalyn kindly. Extending one slender hand, she offered it for a shake. "Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Little Gosalyn Mallard. I'm Dr. Morgana," her eyes twinkled. "Morgana Harpy."

Gosalyn remembered what the stripe in her hair reminded her of: The Bride of Frankenstein.


End file.
